


Warm Welcomes and Cold Shoulders

by ETNRL4L



Series: Mellark Legacy [3]
Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Because We Need to Remember, F/M, Then the Bombs Fell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/pseuds/ETNRL4L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How can you look him in the eye after he came back a Victor when you never had faith in him a day in his life?" A glimpse into the Mellarks' reaction to Peeta's homecoming with Katniss after their Games.<br/>This started off as a reader request and I tend to listen to my readers when they have such wonderful ideas. However, it will expand to explore Peeta's interaction with his family in District Twelve during the time period of Catching Fire.<br/>Should any reader want an expansion on any part of this fic, please leave it in a comment and I will consider adding it to the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Family Reunion Media Circus

**Author's Note:**

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>  [](http://s1179.photobucket.com/user/rosalinabambina/media/fb1a8100abfc8968bbbe7b07fdc43f79_zpsba3cfb8a.jpg.html)   
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>  Banner courtesy of Ro Nordmann

* * *

They all waited on the platform at the train station in what had to be ninety-degree heat.

"Okay. How much you wanna wager the fat one with the bronze wig faints before the train arrives?"

At the mocking tone, gentle nudge and slight head gesture in the ridiculous Capitol reporter's direction, the subdued demeanor the anxiety of finally seeing his baby brother returned to them relatively whole after his nightmarish ordeal of the past two months mitigated enough that the towheaded nineteen-year-old couldn't help release a chortle.

It was difficult keeping stoic when his younger brother had taken it upon himself to make him smile every opportunity that presented itself. And considering the very unfortunate and annoying reality that they were surrounded by a gaggle of brightly colored, flamboyant Capitolite media personnel and camera crews whom all gave off the strange illusion of melting wax in the escalating heat, it didn't appear the middle Mellark child was going to run out of material any time soon.

The soft snickering he saw his father trying to hide behind a hand and the melodic giggling of the dark-haired young woman whose waist his arms were presently wrapped tightly around weren't doing much to perpetuate his anxious mood either.

What _did_ predictably manage to dampen the somewhat jovial familial air was the abrupt clearing of the Mellark matriarch's throat as she turned to level an icy glare at the rest of her family.

"Honestly! We can at least all try to present some semblance of dignity here. I'd like to think I reared you boys well enough to know how to act like gentlemen at these kinds of occasions," she scoffed out in a harsh whisper. Then, her eye roamed disparagingly over the girl in her first-born's arms and locked with his in disapproval, before continuing just as tacitly, "It's bad enough you're making a mockery of our family by parading _her_ in front of the entire district on a day like this. It isn't enough for you that no one in town has set foot in the bakery this whole week, since you selfishly made your toasting public knowledge?"

Flax's hold on his wife tightened protectively, his jaw set in defiance. He glared right back at his mother, not bothering to keep the spite out of his deep baritone. "Chrys has every right to be here to welcome Peeta home, Mom. She's family now too, whether you like it or not. As for the other Merchants who're avoiding the shop? How long do you figure they can keep that up, huh? We're the only bakery in the district! They're just being obstinate snobs because I didn't marry one of their brain-dead daughters. They'll come around eventually. It's not like they have that much choice in the matter. And, honestly, anyone who takes offense can shove their xenophobic, elitist opinion about who I chose to marry up their-"

"FLAX!"

Glacial blue eyes darted to lock with the chastising baby blues of his father and the nineteen-year-old respectfully ended his rant there. He pressed a kiss to the temple of his wife who, in turn, looked up to grace him with a brilliant smile, pale silver eyes gleaming with gratitude.

The oldest Mellark son's heart jerked at the sight.

Chrysanthemum Inglehouse should have been the quintessential Seam middle child in a family of five children. That is, of course, if her eldest brother had not been reaped at the age of twelve at his very first Reaping when Chrys was six and the baby of her family at the time.

Unfortunately, the Inglehouses were one of those Seam families that always seamed to have the odds against them at the Reapings and by the time Chrys was ten, she'd been promoted to oldest child in her family, thanks to her elder sister's name being drawn, as well.

By this point, she had two baby brothers and no mother.

Her brothers had been twins and her mother hadn't survived bringing them into the world two years previously. Her saving grace was a devoted, loving father who was still strong enough to work in the mines and an amazing natural talent for sewing.

Everyone in the Seam knew enough sewing to mend clothes, replace buttons and stitch up worn garments, but few could sew an entire outfit or dress together the way the eldest Inglehouse girl became renowned for being capable of doing. The district tailor in the Town Square was far too expensive for most Seam residents to afford, so Chrys augmented her father's salary and kept her brothers fed by starting a small seamstress business in her home.

At first, she'd just fit the dresses girls would rent for their toastings so that they wouldn't look ridiculous in them. She became known for doing an exceptional job at fitting the white rental dresses without having to make a single cut, thus ruining the dress for the next user. This made her very sought after for her services.

Eventually, she was able to save up a little to buy the white cotton fabric to make a few of the dresses and started renting them out herself. Since she only needed enough profit to keep herself, her brothers and her father fed, her prices were fairer than the tailor's, as well. This garnered her pretty much all the Seam business when it came to renting toasting dresses by the time she was thirteen.

When Chrysanthemum Inglehouse was thirteen, there was a terrible mine collapse in District Twelve. There was an explosion. Many families lost their fathers and mothers in that collapse, but Mr. Inglehouse was one of the few to make it out alive. He did however; receive very serious burns as a result. The district doctor in charge of treating the miners dealt with the burns and declared them non-life-threatening. They likely wouldn't have been if he wouldn't have developed an infection that following autumn.

Chrys had taken her father to Mrs. Everdeen, but the healer had determined the infection was already in his bloodstream and beyond her limited ability to contain. Mr. Inglehouse passed away early that winter.

In spite of this, Chrys was determined to carry on because, really- what other choice did she have? She maintained her brothers fed with her sewing business and bribed the Peacekeepers so they wouldn't take them all to the community home.

She survived… and she caught the eye of the baker's eldest son at school. She was a seamstress so she always wore dresses that were in slightly better shape than most Seam girls. She was as thin as all the poorer Twelve residents, but had intelligent, silver eyes and waist-length ebony hair she always tied back in a messy bun. She was in the same year as Kalmia Rosen, another rather popular Seam girl in school and they were close friends.

Interestingly, neither girl found it quite as surprising that the baker's oldest son had literally asked them both out simultaneously one day as they walked down the hall of their school together as they'd found the notion of a Merchant asking them out at all. They'd both thought it was some kind of practical joke, but he was completely serious.

He'd explained they were both too pretty to pick between so he wanted to get to know both of them if they'd give him the chance. He was actually even upfront with them about the fact that there were another two girls- both Seam- he was currently technically 'dating' in the school.

This was Chrysanthemum Inglehouse's first encounter with Flax Mellark and he'd basically offered to make her part of some kind of harem.

She slapped him so hard her hand stung for three days after that- she wasn't entirely certain what Flax's jaw was made of- Kalmia did too.

She eventually learned, however, the fascinating thing about the Mellarks… they tend to burrow their way under your skin, much like leeches. They were just as hard to detach once they got in there, too.

Flax was funny, charming, non-threatening, comforting, respectful and very, very persistent. Not even Seam boys were like this and in spite of herself and the fact that her best friend was undergoing the exact same metamorphosis, she found herself falling for him. It helped that physically, the boy had more muscle mass than anyone the young seamstress had ever met and he often showed up in his wrestling uniform, which showcased every single nook and cranny on the teen's body.

She and Kalmia weren't even jealous of each other over him, because they all really just communed together. He made them feel special and appreciated. For the little while he could afford them his attention, they felt a little less awful about their lot in life.

Then, when Chrys was fifteen, her world was shattered and not even Flax could help bring it back together- or so she thought at the time.

It was an especially harsh winter and what was declared a flu epidemic, spread through the Seam like a wild fire. It seemed to target the elderly and the young, specifically.

What turned out to be pneumonia took both Chrys' seven-year-old baby brothers.

Now she was alone… alone, but still determined to survive.

She dragged on, supporting herself with her tesserea and her sewing business. She went to school, because it was required of her to do so, but stopped talking to Flax Mellark or Kalmia Rosen or anyone else.

She just survived.

Then, when she was eighteen and at her very last Reaping, she heard Effie Trinket call out a name that awoke the blood in her veins and reminded her she could still feel, even if what she now felt was agony.

Kalmia Rosen had just been reaped.

Tears of shame and regret streaked down her face as she saw her once best friend make that sullen march up to the stage, head held high. Unbidden, her eyes darted through the mass of eighteen-year-olds searching for those familiar glacial blues. Once she found them, she was lost to the depths of despair within those beautiful oceanic pools.

He'd lost her to the Games.

She'd waited ten months to go to him.

She'd wanted to see him sooner, but that was selfish. He'd needed to mourn her. _She'd_ needed to mourn her, before asking his forgiveness for abandoning them- for allowing her own loss and sorrow to rob them of the few happy years they could have shared together as friends.

She waited outside the bakery until she knew his mother was gone and he'd be alone at the counter before she walked in. Once inside, she only remembered fidgeting with her hands awkwardly and staring at the floor for the right way to start that conversation with him for a few seconds before she was engulfed in a suffocating hug.

To say she was surprised when he pulled away abruptly only to crush his mouth to hers would be an understatement. Even after three years, though, she found herself responding to him immediately. When they'd finally pulled away for air and he'd gasped out that he needed her, she could only nod in response. She needed him, too. They would help each other heal.

Two months later, his baby brother- the pride and joy of Flax Mellark's young life- was reaped.

But, now she was there to help him through it.

She was there with him and Rye, in the Town Square every night of the Games, holding his hand as they watched Peeta use guile to try to save the girl he loved. She agonized with him as he whimpered at watching his baby brother dying slowly by that riverbank. She screeched in an annoyingly high-pitched squeal that earned her hearty chuckles from the Mellarks when Claudius Templesmith announced there could be two Victors if they were both from the same district. She recalled something very similar happening once the Seam huntress actually _found_ her boyfriend's baby brother, only she'd been certain hopping gleefully was also involved…

Chrys had swooned at all the mushy stuff in the cave and giggled at the sometimes-ridiculous comments poor Peeta's brothers made about what he should do to get the sponsors to send them food. Like either of them would actually do half of that on national television. Of course, she knew these to be the desperate attempts of two mortified older siblings to latch onto that undying hope they'd see their baby brother again, while still keeping a front of bravado. Therefore, she never said anything about it.

She'd suffered silently through the entire night right along with the brothers as they watched Peeta hold Katniss on the Cornucopia, almost bleeding to death from the gash in his calf.

She'd gasped in horror right along them two days ago, during the interview, when Katniss had inelegantly pulled up Peeta's pant leg to expose to all of Panem the dire reality that the youngest Mellark teen had lost his leg to the Games.

Of course, that last one had happened in their living room above the bakery because the moment it had been announced that both Peeta and Katniss were Victors, Flax had pulled Chrys' arm in the direction of the Justice Building, asked for a marriage license and handed her a pen. Their toasting had been that afternoon, while his mother was out getting supplies. It'd taken another two weeks for word to spread that the heir to the bakery had married a Seam girl.

It caused quite the little tiff in town. Flax couldn't possibly care less.

He was already orchestrating a scheme to get his wife a job. She wasn't Merchant. He knew she'd never be happy just moping around all day doing nothing, waiting to pop out the next baby. Seam women needed to feel useful. Therefore, as soon as the novelty of who he'd married ebbed, he'd see the tailor about gaining Chrys an apprenticeship at his shop.

Regardless of the tailor's personal views on Seam folk, Flax knew him to be a practical man. It wasn't exactly a secret his only son was only interested in how often he could get his wife pregnant. Even if the kid eventually developed a sense for the business end of his father's craft as heir, he couldn't stitch a button. Having someone who could do the actual sewing was a definite advantage to this man. He'd take the deal. If Mellarks were good at one thing, it was convincing people to do their bidding.

The towheaded nineteen-year-old's reverie ended abruptly as one of the Capitol news anchors shrieked in a pitch that should decidedly not emanate from someone in possession of male genitalia.

"Oh! The train's arriving! Cameras at the ready, all!"

The cumulative Mellark clan seemed to release a synchronized, annoyed sigh at the cast of Capitolites amassed before them on the platform, doing an excellent job of working interference between them and their returning loved one on the arriving train.

This was ridiculous! Hadn't these kids been through enough already? Did they really need a camera shoved in their faces before they could even get that welcoming embrace from a loved one they almost certainly desperately craved after their ordeal?

Being the shortest in his family after his mother and thus the most impeded from a proper view of what was transpiring before him; Rye's spike in temper at the audacity of these leaches to cut him off from his baby brother was instantaneous. Coiling and uncoiling his fists, he tore his eyes away from the backs of the affronting reporters before he lost control of his rational mind and allowed his baser instincts to sway his desire to ram his way through the idiots to Peeta.

His eyes found Katniss' family beside theirs almost instantly. Her mother was craning unsuccessfully to see over the Capitol personnel, as well. _That_ wasn't helping assuage his anger any.

He truly considered violence when his eyes landed on little Prim, who'd all but given up on getting a glimpse at her older sister, dejectedly staring at her shoes, instead.

Had it not been for Gale Hawthorne suddenly picking up the rather surprised twelve-year-old and perching her over his shoulders so that she had a birdseye view of the platform, the Mellark middle child was fairly certain he would have lost it.

He noted with no small degree of satisfaction the homicidal intensity in Gale's eyes as he regarded the reporters before him.

Definitely nice to know there was kindred sentiment in this crowd!

Strangely, knowing the Seam hunter was as frustrated with this ridiculous tradition of having family relegated to a secondary status in favor of the media circus at this reunion, rather tempered Rye's fury. He was able to focus back on the arriving train.

When the train stopped and the doors opened, the frenzy would have been laughable if it weren't so mortifyingly inappropriate.

The Capitolites almost seemed to be climbing and trampling each other to get footage and soundbites of the arrived Victors.

It was madness!

When they'd had their fill of 'arrival' footage, the hoards spread out to allow Peeta and Katniss some breathing room and, for the first time, a glimpse at the families they'd survived through the impossible to return to.

This is when the bizarre _really_ began.

The instant the sea of media parted and the elder Mellark brothers got a good look at their family's youngest, decked out in a perfectly tailored suit, ash blonde hair combed back immaculately, one hand waving congenially at the crowd as the other held the hand of the girl he'd pined for since he was five… smiling an impossibly brilliant smile that didn't even inch anywhere near his liquid blue eyes… they exchanged a meaningful look.

And in this look was both a question and a command. ' _Why does Peeta have his gameface on? Put your gameface on!_ ' If there was one thing you learned growing up in a household with the baker's wife, it was how to put on a façade to rival any show in the Capitol.

The Mellarks all hurried to Peeta the moment they were allowed to move by the crews. The baker was, of course, allowed to embrace the teen first. He crushed him in a bear hug so tightly, the sixteen-year-old was at an absolute loss to reciprocate and lost the handle he'd had on a cane a Capitol attendant had handed him shortly before the families were allowed to approach. Apparently, they weren't too keen on Peeta's handicap being showcased too predominantly.

The youngest Mellark didn't even register his father's apology when he bent down to retrieve the walking aide as he was in the process of being smothered by his two older brothers.

"You two do know I still need to breathe, right? And I'm pretty sure between you and Dad something's going to be bruised on my torso by tonight."

The three siblings shared a healthy laugh as the two oldest relinquished their hold somewhat, but all three kept their foreheads touching as they whispered almost conspiratorially.

"We never stopped believing you had it in you to make it back, Peeta. But, considering who your travel partner was, you can't really blame us for _not_ expecting you to _want_ to try to get back here."

The hurt and almost betrayed look that flitted across their baby brother's blue eyes was not lost on them as he quirked up one end of his mouth into what, to anyone else, would read as a mischievous smirk, but they knew enough to see was full of resentment. "Well, then I guess I should be forever grateful she decided to spare me so that I could come back to you guys, huh?"

He said this with a snicker that had an edge to it like a shard of glass and now they really couldn't help wonder what had happened to their little brother in that arena. This was decidedly _not_ Peeta Mellark. What didn't they know?

Nevertheless, both Rye and Flax played up their roles with an expertise borne of years of hard-learned practice, slapping their little brother on the back good-naturedly and stepping aside so that their mother could approach.

Not surprisingly to either his siblings or his father, the teen instantly and wordlessly wrapped his mother in a hug. The baker's wife, on the other hand, was completely caught unawares by the gesture and took a good two seconds of wide-eyed gasping to return the embrace.

She had never hugged her youngest son before. She hadn't hugged any of her sons in close to two decades. She found it felt quite agreeable being enveloped in her youngest boy's arms. She also noticed he seemed very thin. Well, he was a Victor now. A month of eating anything and everything he wanted would take care of that.

Then, she suddenly felt suffocated by the embrace- smothered by the guilt the comfort this boy's arms evoked. She had no claim to this comfort. She'd never afforded _him_ any.

That was not an equitable exchange.

He'd been physically strong enough to make it through the Games, if wallowing in muck for almost a week with a bleeding, festering, bone-deep cut without dying was any testament. She could claim credit for that. She'd always fed him well enough. She'd never opposed his wrestling or any other activity he engaged in to make himself stronger. She'd beaten physical strength into him. Every healed wound meant a higher tolerance for pain. She'd helped make her son's body strong.

This was her claim in this Victor's fame. This was fair.

She abruptly pulled away from his embrace, ignoring the predictable dejection that flitted across his expression before he schooled it back into a blank mask as she spoke, coolly, "I never thought I'd see you again. Your Games were very… unorthodox? What'd I tell you, though?" She now winked, while smirking and gesturing with her head in Katniss's direction, where she was still cocooned by Everdeens and Hawthornes alike. "That girl right there's a survivor! Never doubted it for a second!" She pretended her son's eyes hadn't hardened to stone as she lowered her voice to whisper her last pearls as close to his ear as she could. "If you've actually really managed to dig your claws into her whatsoever, Peeta, hold on for dear life… you're not doing any better than her."

She then moved aside to stand by her husband, nonchalantly, leaving her youngest son reeling as if sucker-punched in the gut and entirely unable to manifest it outwardly in this setting.

Flax sent a brief pitying look his brother's way, before beckoning his wife forward. He had no idea what his mother had said to him, but considering her limited repertoire of kindness when it came to addressing any of them, he was fairly certain the kid was in desperate need of cheering up right now.

Peeta had some difficulty refocusing his reeling and, honestly, dark train of thought into something less murderous as a very pretty, familiar Seam girl came to stand before him next to his eldest brother. She held out a hand with a friendly smile as Flax, for some reason, found the need to reintroduce them. "Peeta, you remember Chrysanthemum Inglehouse…" and then his brother spoke the words that clarified why he was greeting a girl he'd known since he was twelve as if he'd never met her before, "Well, she's Chrysanthemum Mellark as of three weeks ago. She's your new sister-in-law. Isn't she just swell?"

Flax said the last part with a rapture and superior smirk that Peeta found absolutely enthralling. With an entirely inappropriately smug smile in his mother's direction, the baker's youngest son let out a genuinely malicious chortle before turning back to his brother, slapping him on the back gratulatorily. "That's just _perfect_ , Rye! That's just about the best thing I'm likely to hear all day! I'm eternally indebted to you!"

Turning to his new sister-in-law, he enfolded her in his arms. "Welcome to the Mellark family, Sis!"

Loosening his grip and gesturing with his head toward his mother, he didn't bother in the slightest checking the volume of his voice, nor the insolent quality to his smirk as he added, "Wish you the best dealing with _that_!"

He found Chrys had a laugh as pretty as she was when she gleefully replied back with a playful swipe at his chest, "Oh, Peeta, I'm a Seam orphan…" the mirth dropped instantly from her face and her eyes turned into hardened steel as she finished in a deathly chilling tone, "She can bring it."

Peeta swallowed thickly as the sweet smile reappeared on his sister-in-law's face as if it'd never left. He inwardly mused whether all Seam girls had this terrifying ability to turn murderous in the blink of an eye. Katniss certainly possessed this idiosyncrasy.

He adamantly choked down the yearning thinking about Katniss promptly evoked. He couldn't think of her. The only way he was going to pull this off was by detaching his mind and his heart from his body for as long as the cameras were here. He could do the motions mechanically- remotely. He'd done it a million times before, if for an entirely different reason. So what, if he was hiding a bruised pride and shattered heart instead of bruised ribs and sprained ankle.

The dance was the same and he'd mastered it long ago.

As soon as the media considered they'd given ample time for the Victors to reacquaint themselves with their families separately, they were pulled back together for family interviews.

This is where the bizarre escalated.

Considering Katniss's exceedingly poor ability to keep almost every emotion and reaction from displaying freely on her features, the baker's older sons quickly gleamed that the Hawthorne clan was in no way related to the Everdeens as had been insinuated during their interviews a few weeks prior. The girl was pretty much shocked beyond believe to find out she had 'cousins' and played it off about as well as an out of tune fiddle.

Their baby brother held her close and did an amazing job at damage control on her behalf by diverting the cameras' attention to himself with funny anecdotes about needing more family reunions in Twelve and how _everyone_ was related in a town this small. Then he kissed her sweetly. He had every single Capitolite and most of the district present eating out of the palm of his hand.

Flax and Rye were trying their best not to outwardly cringe at the pain and effort they saw so evidently written across every congenial word and loving gesture Peeta bestowed upon the Seam huntress. They'd never witnessed anything this contrived played out on this scale for this long before. They knew this was draining the youngest among them dry and they still had no clue why he was even doing it.

When the questions from the media began, they learned the true mettle of Peeta Mellark.

"Mr. Mellark, did you think you'd ever see your son again after Cato slashed him while they struggled so that Katniss could escape?"

These people had no boundaries.

"There was never a doubt in my mind my boy would come home if he wanted to make it back here."

Leave it to the baker to make it short and sweet.

"Prim, are you disappointed that, technically, your big sister broke her promise and didn't do everything she could to win the Games, instead choosing to weaken her odds by helping her half-dead district partner?"

SERIOUSLY?

"My sister promised to try to win and come back. She's standing right here next to me. I'd be terribly selfish to be anything but ecstatic right now. The fact that she got to know and care for Peeta along the way is absolutely wonderful! I'm glad it happened! They deserve each other after going through all that."

Oh, sweet Prim! Wise and practical far beyond her years… Was everyone certain she's really related to Katniss Everdeen? This wasn't like the Hawthorne 'cousins' thing, right?

"Mrs. Mellark," Oh, here we go… "Were you surprised your son was able to beat the odds and come home?"

"I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't." Ever the charmer… "Anyone in this district could probably attest to knowing he's got a hide as thick as an ox and anyone who's seen him wrestle probably knew he could handle himself one-on-one with any of those other kids. But, actually surviving out there in that wilderness? I'm going to go ahead and credit his district partner for that one." Way to go Mom! "I've always said you can never underestimate how much a good woman can raise the stock of a man."

Wow! And Peeta had managed to stand there smiling, firmly holding an openly appalled Katniss who looked about three seconds away from pouncing on the baker's wife. The boy's older brothers went ahead and cringed. This was torture.

Then, of course, the straw to break the camel's back…

"Mrs. Everdeen, what do you think of your daughter's new boyfriend?"

This one was followed by much snickering from the Capitolite crowd.

"While Peeta is the very model of what a young man should be and I'm certain would treat Katniss with every respect and consideration, my daughter is only sixteen years of age. In my book, that _is not_ old enough to have _any_ boyfriend, at all."

The healer followed this up with a pointed look at the baker's youngest son.

His older brothers feared they'd find dejection or at least contriteness in the sixteen-year-old's blue eyes as he feigned sheepishness, pulling away from Katniss amongst the laughter and taunts from the press of "Somebody's in trouble" and the like.

However, to their growing surprise, the only thing they saw gleam briefly across the boy's well-practiced masquerade… was relief.

* * *

_**Later That Evening- The Mellark Bakery Kitchen** _

Peeta's eyes surveyed all the members of his family congregated in the small quarters briefly, before running a hand through his hair and huffing out tiredly. "All right, I probably have all of maybe fifteen minutes with you guys, before they haul me off to another event or news conference or some other god-forsaken thing. So let me get this out while I can. I missed you guys more than you'll ever know and I really hope to spend some more time with you soon. However, I know there's likely one predominant question on all your minds and I'd rather take care of it now that you're all here together instead of having to explain it over and over. Because, honestly, outside of you guys, I don't feel particularly inclined to explain this."

"My flesh and blood leg's gone. Yes, it hurts because the prosthesis is something they develop in Three that they refer to as 'cybernetic'. The pain, although minor, comes from the fact that it's still in the process of synchronizing itself to my existing nerves, so I can eventually manipulate the 'toes' and 'foot' with something close to the same dexterity I did my real one. Don't ask me how that's supposed to happen, they just told me it would. For this reason, for the time being, since I'm sixteen and still growing, it will have to be adjusted yearly when I go back to mentor for the Games."

"It doesn't come off. The core has been fused to my existing bone. The core can and will be adjusted as I grow so one of my legs is not shorter than the other. I can't 'feel' it and often have to adjust it manually when I kneel, bend or try to sit on the floor. It's powered by something called B.T.U.'s in my body, so it will function as long as I'm alive and producing body heat. Neither the metals nor the plastics in it are corrosive. So, in theory, I should be able to shower or bathe or swim in it indefinitely- if I ever learn how to swim. Any questions?"

The Mellark youngest child once more surveyed the slack-jawed, gaping expression mirrored on every single member of his family, before huffing out in aggravation, "No? Good, because I'm due at a press conference at the Justice Building in about five minutes..." And dashed out of the kitchen.

* * *

_**The Mellark Residence- One Week After Arrival** _

"I can't believe I finally get to have my own room."

Peeta shot his older brother an unimpressed look out of the corner of his eye as he placed some photos and one of his father's old recipe books into the box on what used to be his bed. "You've technically had your own room since I was reaped, Rye. I wasn't exactly supposed to come back."

The Mellark middle child was getting more than a little fed up with his little brother's foul mood since arriving back in the district. Today had been the first chance they'd even gotten to see each other for longer than five minutes without a camera crew and anchorman around asking intrusive, ridiculous, personal questions. And that was only because Peeta had to move into his house in the Victor's Village- which, by the way, was also going to be a whole production later on that day- and was being allowed a few hours to gather whatever belongings he wanted to take from his childhood home with him.

A snide remark was on the tip of Rye's tongue when his older brother barged into the room, quickly locking the door behind him. "Okay, Peeta. I left Chrys alone downstairs with Mom… with _Mom_ , Peeta, running the counter while Dad gets the supplies from the train. So, us three," he pointed with his index finger at each occupant of the room, "we're going to have a little chat that's well overdue at this point. You're going to tell us what's wrong and we're going to do everything we can to help you. Because in the sixteen years you've been around, that's how it's gone down and whatever happened in that arena isn't about to change that."

Peeta regarded his oldest brother with a cross between anger and gratitude, then darted his eyes quickly around the room. He was certain to a degree his home in the Victor's Village would be bugged, but Snow hadn't had the opportunity to get to the bakery, yet. However, did he really want to burden his brothers with what he'd done? With how deep the hole he'd dug for himself really went? He supposed it was only fair to at least tell them about Katniss and play the rest by ear.

"She's 'confused'," he spit out as if the words were bile.

"Confused about what, specifically? Because, no offense little brother, but that girl isn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed."

"Rye, I learned so many ways to mess you up without killing you, while I was in there, man. Don't test me."

Ever the mediator, Flax took a cautious step between his younger siblings, sending a warning glare the middle child's way. "Don't be stupid, Rye!" He then turned softer eyes on his baby brother. "You _are_ going to have to elaborate there, Peeta."

The sixteen-year-old huffed out an indignant breath, falling back first on his bed and bringing both hands up to rub his face in frustration. "You guys remember how Katniss never seemed to pay attention to any of the guys in school and how odd we found it? Well, it turns out this girl never gave the notion of a romantic relationship a thought a single day in her life before she volunteered for her sister."

Rye was now prone on his own bed, propped up on an elbow. "So, what does that translate to for you?"

Peeta released a mirthless scoff. "It translates to being in love with a girl who has absolutely no notion of what romantic love _is_ and wouldn't know how to recognize it if it kicked her in the… it's just really frustrating, okay? Then, you have to factor in the fact that I pretty much forced her to play up a romantic angle as part of the Games because I really didn't think other people would see what I see in her, otherwise."

"That's for sure..."

"Rye! Ignore him, Peeta. He's a moron."

Wisely, heeding his eldest brother's advice, the younger teen continued, "So, I poured my heart out to her on national television and she took it the wrong way. Okay. I can accept that. She has no idea who I am and no previous experience to draw from. Fine. She could have let me die in the Games and she didn't because she thought she owed me. Fine. She kissed me in the cave- her first kiss, by the way- because I'd wrangled us into that whole Star-Crossed-Lovers bit and she needed to get us fed. We were starving. Fine."

He now propped himself on one elbow, mimicking his older brother and regarded them both with furrowed eyebrows. "Here's where it starts messing with my head. The three of us know I've kissed a lot of girls and I can tell you Katniss had never kissed anyone before she kissed me. Even delusional with fever, I could tell she had no idea what she was doing. But, I still did. I knew the kisses didn't feel  _real_... except for one."

"I know which one."

Peeta raised an intrigued eyebrow at his older brother, who shrugged with an easy grin. "She wanted more. You should have obliged her."

Pushing down that pesky longing those memories dredged up, the sixteen-year-old shook his head ruefully, responding in a low voice. "Her forehead was bleeding, Flax. I wasn't about to take advantage of a girl who was weak with blood loss. I care about her too much to do anything like that."

"So you still care about her, then?" Rye yawned out.

The baker's youngest son narrowed his eyes dangerously at his older brother. "Is there a particular reason you're trying to piss me off, Rye?"

The Mellark middle child immediately turned excited blue eyes to lock on his little brother's. "Are you kidding? I've never seen this side of you before! This tiny Seam girl has managed in two months what sixteen years of abuse at Mom's hands couldn't manage. She's brought out Angry Peeta. And let me tell you, little brother, Angry Peeta is awesome! I'm actually kind of freaked out by you."

Rye was blissfully oblivious to the mortified way both his brother's faces warped at his statement, once he laid his head back on the pillow.

Peeta's voice was almost inaudible when the next words managed their way out of his throat. "That wasn't Katniss, Rye. You really think my anger is Katniss? I watched the Career pack kill eleven helpless children before I could challenge one of them for a spot among them in the hopes of protecting her. I watched them kill a helpless girl because she set a fire to keep warm at night and held her hand until her heart stopped. When I was under the effect of the tracker jacker venom stings, I saw you and Flax and Dad and Mom and Katniss die over and over. I had to fight a boy who had a foot and fifty pounds on me and paid for it by dying a torturously painful, slow death in a ditch. Then, I had something that not even a fevered mind would conjure, rip into my leg so bad I lost it. And the real kicker is the fact that I didn't leave it behind. Whatever you call Angry Peeta is proof that the arena stayed with me. I dream about it every night."

Even before he'd finished speaking, both his older brothers had climbed on his bed. Rye had his head on his lap as Flax rubbed commiserative circles on his back. The Mellark middle child was the first to break the silence that followed. "Okay. I'm an idiot. But I don't know how to fix what they did to you. I know more about girls. Let's get back to your girl problems, little brother."

Peeta graced him with a watery, half-hearted smile. "Katniss feels something more than friendship toward me, but thanks to my exposing her to the possibility of feeling more than friendship toward a guy, she thinks she feels the same way about Gale Hawthorne."

A chorused "Oh" of understanding come from both his older brothers.

Peeta sat up off the bed in a renewed bout of rage. "Yes, 'oh'. I'm not exactly competition for the likes of Gale on a good day. And I don't deserve to be in a position to have to compete for her, anyway. I was willing to _die_ for her. I forfeited my life to her. I deserve better than 'confused'! And if she can't see that? She can honestly shove it! I don't want to be a consolation price. Look how well that turned out for Mom. I'm a Victor, regardless of how I came to be one. I've never had to settle when it comes to girls and I'm not about to start now. If I'm not good enough for her, she can have her hunter and have fun with that." He really wished he could've thrown something by the end of that.

"Feel better now?"

Peeta reeled to lock eyes with the calm, collected oceanic pools of his oldest brother and found the first earnest smile he'd worn in days tug at the corners of his mouth. "You know what? Yeah, I kinda do."

Flax let out a chuckle. "Good! You know, a good chunk of that was total bull, though. You know, the part about you not caring if she wants Hawthorne, the part where you basically implied you're even capable of not fighting for her… Pretty much the only thing you said that's true is that she shouldn't be confused. I'm not saying this because you're my brother. I tell Rye he's a moron all the time."

"Hey! Leave me out of this!"

Flax easily caught the pillow his younger brother swung at his head and continued, "You outclassed Gale miles ago, Peeta. If this girl can't see that, then she really doesn't deserve you."

The baker's youngest coiled both hands into tight fists, turning away from his older brothers to nearly snarl out in frustration, "But I still _want_ her. I still _love_ her. I hate myself for still wanting _her_ when she doesn't only want _me_."

"Then, you'll have to be patient with her."

When both his brothers snapped their heads to gape disbelievingly at him, Rye's hands flew up in exasperation. "Don't look at me like that! I told you jerks I'm good with girl problems and I'm not a moron, Flax! Short-fused and moronic are not synonyms." He focused his liquid blue eyes on his baby brother. "She's already into you, Peeta. We all noticed that kiss in the cave was special. It was special enough to get her to notice you. It was special enough to get her to feel about you what she's never felt for anyone else before in her life, what she didn't even know existed. So, she thinks she _might_ feel the same way about someone she's been friends with forever. She's already proven she's unbelievably slow on the uptake with anything that has to do with emotions. She's going to take a while to figure out that you're really what she wants."

Peeta brought his arms up to cross over his chest, scrutinizing his brother and ruminating his shrift before retorting obstinately, "I'm not a doormat, Rye. I'm not going to beg her to choose me. I have my pride. I'm worth more than that."

Rye let an easy smile grace his austere features as he responded, flippantly, "Then, don't little brother. Don't give her anything else. Don't be rude, of course. You're still Peeta. You need to stay Peeta. You're kind and giving and all-around good. But don't give her any more of that boy in the cave. Let her pine for that part of you the way you pined for her for eleven years. It's only fair."

"We have the Victory Tour in five months. We will have to pretend we're still in love for that. It's sort of the bargain we made with the Capitol for staying alive…" Peeta wasn't sure if revealing this was such a great idea, but his brothers had been so helpful thus far.

Flax eyed his baby brother with a wary smile, knowing there was more to that than what the boy was telling them, but deciding not to pry. "If she hasn't made her decision by then, at least you will have had time to cool off. Maybe, you'll even be willing to accept a friendship and move on. It's better than nothing after waiting eleven years to so much as talk to her, right?"

To be entirely honest, the prospect didn't sound particularly spectacular to the baker's youngest son. However, he had to admit that he was exceptionally angry with Katniss at the present and giving whatever they did or did not have time to evolve of its own accord did sound more logical than stubbornly denying himself any kind of future relationship with her.

"Okay. I'll try it and see how it goes," he stated, turning to the half-filled box on his bed. "Are you guys sure you don't want to come live with me? The house is huge."

Rye wrinkled his nose in distaste at the idea. "Nah, little brother. I'm going to enjoy my own room here before I marry Lacy and take over her father's shop."

Peeta shrugged and turned to Flax, who shook his head, as well. In the end, he just decided to make a different offer. "Okay. Then, we're going to the Carpenter's shop some time tomorrow and putting in an order for larger beds for both of you." He now sent a pointed look at his eldest brother. "And we're going to make sure yours has an especially thick mattress that won't squeak."

Flax raised a questioning eyebrow at his baby brother. "I don't need a new bed… and how do you know my mattress squeaks?" He couldn't help his glacial eyes traveling anxiously to his second youngest brother, who was now inexplicably guffawing and holding his sides while rolling on his bed.

Peeta snickered as he mock-whispered conspiratorially in his brother's ear, "You're a newlywed, we have very thin walls in this house and I saw the instructional tape in our human growth and development class at school."

At this point, Rye had completely rolled off his bed and was laughing on the floor.

Flax's face attained a shade of crimson his brothers had never seen before. He sputtered briefly at a complete loss, before jerking the door to the room open and pointing a menacing finger at both the still-laughing occupants. His voice was deathly ice as he spoke. "Either of you breathes a word of this to Chrys and I swear I'll beat you to a bloody pulp!"

Then he was gone… a chorus of unrestrained laughter following in his wake.


	2. Unpleasant Needful Things Must be Heard

She glared at the three steps leading up to the entrance to the shop that stood before her.

She'd purposely been avoiding this place like a leper colony since her arrival back at the district over two months ago, even though she'd made several ventures into town in that span.

She'd been to the tailor's twice with her mother and sister to have them fitted for entirely new wardrobes on her newly acquired Victor's wealth.

She'd been to the Cartwright's shop, purchasing both of them every pair of shoes they desired and- much to her own discomfort- a pair of pinching, proper, machine-made boots for herself at her mother's incessant behest. Apparently, Victors should have footwear befitting their status- not their comfort.

She'd been to the apothecary to stock up on anything her mother didn't have in supply, handily, since she'd been away for so long. It didn't help that she hadn't been able to go out into the woods for a month after getting back from the Games to properly restock the healer's reserves of herbs due to the constant nuisance of camera crews, interviews and victory events.

She'd been to Rooba's shop several times. It felt odd coming in the front door as a customer that first time she was there. However, once the middle-aged dirty blonde quirked that lopsided, knowing smirk and quipped that she wouldn't like the taste of chicken any better than wild turkey, the tension melted away easily. This was as close to ' _I'm so glad you made it back to us alive_ ' as one got from Rooba.

When she told her she still expected a good deer from her every now and then, it actually felt like she'd arrived back home. She found herself smirking back and replying that the butcher would get that deer the moment she lost all those annoying Capitol vultures and got back to her woods.

Beyond that, there had been several stops at the hardware store, the general store, the textile store…

She'd pretty much managed to spread her newfound wealth to every shop in the square and the Hob fairly indiscriminately over the weeks since her arrival back home- all except the blaring exception before her, of course.

From a purely fiscal objective, this shop had no need of her patronage. Whom the owners' youngest offspring _was_ not withstanding, it was the only shop offering what they offered in the district. They had a monopoly on their particular commodity here.

Nevertheless, she wasn't here as a consumer.

If she was entirely honest with herself, she wasn't even here because she _wanted_ to be. The fact was she _needed_ this. Perhaps, it was because she was intrinsically selfish. She hoped it was because she wanted to know more about someone who was burrowing his way deeper and deeper inside her and confusing her emotions to the point of near delirium.

She needed to understand. She needed to defend what had been said and done to someone a little voice in the back of her mind said she should cherish. Most of all, she needed closure.

These things could only be attained within the walls of this small shop in the Town Square and then, singly from one person residing inside.

Her reverie was broken abruptly by the sound of the ringing bell as the door to the establishment opened and an obviously Merchant young woman in her late twenties walked out carrying a parcel. The woman instantly recognized her and proceeded to congratulate her on her victory in the Games.

The steel-eyed teenager hoped the nod and smile in the woman's general direction as she moved past her up the stairs into the shop didn't look as forced and half-hearted as it felt.

It still irked her that none of these townspeople would have ever acknowledged her existence before her winning the Games and now they showered her with sycophantic adulation whenever they saw her.

Bloody hypocrites!

These positively warm thoughts radiated through Katniss' frame of mind as she entered the bakery to see Peeta's mother turn away from putting a fresh tray of muffins out on a display case to face her.

Yes. This mindset _was not_ a recipe for an altercation with this woman _whatsoever_ …

To the raven-haired teenager's absolute dismay, the baker's wife greeted her with a positively glowingly wide, sincere smile and nothing but admiration in her voice when she spoke. "Well! This is certainly a surprise! I didn't think I'd ever see _you_ come in here! Peeta's off lord-knows-where doing something with Flax today if you're looking for him…"

So caught off guard was she by the Mellark woman's reaction to her that she barely captured the meaning of the words. She expected open disdain from her, even spite- never sincere hospitality. Was she in the right building? She just gaped, gray eyes wide and brows furrowed in befuddlement for a second before stumbling out a very ineloquent "W-What?"

The older blonde's smile faltered slightly as one light, quizzically intrigued eyebrow shot up and she tipped her head to the side slightly, scrutinizing the diminutive girl in front of her before scoffing lightly, "Well, I _know_ you're not here for baked goods. If you go by how his father tells it, Peeta's the best baker this district's had since his great-grandfather ran this bakery over eighty years ago. And considering how well he's smitten with you, I'm guessing you could ask him for a twelve-layer, orange-flavored cake or something ridiculous like that and he'd stir up the bowels of the earth themselves to make it for you. If I know my youngest at all, he's likely keeping you in bread daily, whether you've asked him for it or not. Gets that from his father…"

The more this woman spoke, the more Katniss realized the baker's wife really held no animosity toward her, which only confused her even further. Curiously, she found it also enraged her to no end. A fact that ignited the unbridled indignation coloring the next words she directed at her. "First of all, I'm not here to see Peeta. If I want to see him, I can just walk down the three houses he lives from mine and knock. I'm not simple-minded. Secondly, how dare you pretend to like me when you treated me like an animal when I was starving. You even beat your own son for feeding me. And finally, how can any mother tell their own child right to his face, right after he's been reaped- for heaven's sake- that she believes the girl in the room immediately next to his in that Justice Building has a better chance of winning and surviving than _he_ does? What kind of sick, twisted mind even conjures that up as rallying consolation? What kind of abusive monster are you?"

In spite of the fact that by statement's end the sixteen-year-old had been shouting venomously at the Mellark matriarch, the latter's only response was to casually lean her arms on the counter, interlacing her fingers. She allowed the smile to fade entirely, but still regarded the young woman with amusement, deep veneration and what Katniss could only describe as fondness; casually wording her retort with a shrug to one shoulder. "See?" She lifted her head briefly, gesturing to the steel-eyed girl. "This is why I always wanted me a girl- got stuck with three boys instead."

Noticing that outraged scowl on the teenager's face that spoke volumes of a scathing riposte on the merits of her last-born offspring well outweighing the merits of a daughter, the baker's wife instantly snapped up a halting index finger at the girl. "I allowed you to speak your peace uninterrupted and the most basic of manners dictate you extend the same courtesy to me. Now, I know you're Seam, but we both know your pedigree and I do expect her to have raised you better than _that_."

Well, there was just no verbal response to that statement that wouldn't validate the harpy's claim to Katniss's mother being as uncouth as to not bring her up properly. Therefore, she brought up her arms to cross ruefully under her now-heavily heaving, modest breasts, while shooting deadly steel daggers with her eyes at the older woman as she seethed. All the while inwardly musing if Peeta was at all aware where exactly his talent for so readily manipulating others hailed from.

Noting with no small amount of bemusement that the Everdeen girl was going to behave until she'd had her say, the Mellark female continued as flippantly as before, "I'm not apologizing to you for what I did to you when you were little… Katniss? Can I call you Katniss? I know I don't really know you, but honestly, I'm old enough to be your mother and calling you Ms. Everdeen as everyone else seems to find appropriate just sounds patronizing and insulting as heck to me in both our cases…"

Since the steel-eyed teen really loathed how everyone had taken to referring to her that way, she was actually relieved that Peeta's mother was practical enough to see how ridiculous the entitlement was. However, she was still entirely too pissed at the older woman to get more than a growled "Katniss' fine" out as her assent.

Undeterred by the girl's dour mood, the baker's wife continued as if uninterrupted. "I'm not apologizing for that, Katniss. Seam riffraff constantly scurry through my trash, making a mess. You have for decades. You filthy heathens are worse than raccoons."

She ignored how the tiny teenager's features twisted in unrestrained vexation at her dispassionate exegesis of her starving cast. "Besides, I had no idea _who_ you were. You all look the same to me… dark skin, gray eyes, gaunt bodies…"

"As for how I feel about you now? The way I may or may not feel about your mother not withstanding, I see a light in you that positively radiates strength and power. That's why I wanted a girl, you know. To instill that kind of power in her- to make her indelible like you. And believe me when I tell you that I wish my son weren't such poor competition to your so very handsome, strong, hunter 'cousin'," she actually smiled knowingly and made the air quotes with her fingers before her expression saddened as she finished, "Because nothing would have made me happier than to finally have the daughter I always dreamed of, even if it was only through marriage."

Katniss felt her heart clench in longing unexpectedly for the son of the woman before her. The way she'd just worded her last reply had gotten to her. Hadn't she herself admitted to Peeta he didn't have any competition anywhere when they where in the cave?

How quickly she'd forgotten that sentiment once they'd left that place of solace within the nightmare that had been the Games. How quickly she'd forgotten him once she'd returned home and recently started hunting with Gale again on Sundays.

How quickly she'd forgotten when Gale kissed her a couple of weeks ago.

She'd forgotten, but that didn't make her statement any less true. Peeta had no competition anywhere. He was the best person Katniss had ever met and she found both her guilt at abandoning him and her anger at his mother for diminishing his worth when compared to her best friend reigniting fiercely now.

She might have been confused about how deeply her feelings for her golden-haired neighbor ran, but something primal inside her dictated that she defend him against the damage the cruel things spewing from the mouth of this woman who'd sired him could inflict. Unfortunately, she was fairly certain he'd already heard some variation of this growing up in this place. The very notion of this made the blood in her veins boil.

Oblivious to the young woman's growing agitation, the older blonde shook her head briefly to clear it of the sad thoughts that plagued her shortly before leveling a determined, icy glare back at the Seam teenager. "As for how I raised my sons, Katniss, you're out of your mind if you think I'm about to let the daughter of the only woman _my husband_ has ever loved dictate to me my flaws in childrearing. I tried to make my husband love me by giving him a child as soon as we married so that he wouldn't leave me at the first chance that presented itself, because I knew he adored children. I was eighteen, optimistic and stupid. I was so naïve, I actually thought it worked. He was so happy when Flax was born…"

She looked down at the counter with a faraway look now as she continued, "But it didn't take long for me to realize that my husband's happiness was only directed at his son. His love belonged only to his son, not to me. So I panicked and did what any stupid panicking twenty-year-old would do to try to save her marriage- I got pregnant again."

She looked up from the counter to lock eyes with those of the Seam girl and Katniss could have sworn there was a hint of plead in the careless pale blue pools. "Of course, Rye's arrival didn't make him love me anymore than Flax's had, though he was ecstatic to have his second boy. And don't get me wrong, he's never been anything but kind to me, but I wanted love, Katniss, passion. I was so young. I believed I could make him love me."

The baker's wife now scoffed and brought a hand up to rub the bridge of her nose, smiling mirthlessly. "Then, when Rye was just a month old, I overheard what I believed at the time to be the worst conversation I'd ever been privy to in my entire lifetime when your father came to trade with my husband. It seemed your parents had been having some trouble conceiving and your father was positively boasting to my husband about how exited he was that your mother was finally pregnant."

"I could literally see the color drain from his face as he feigned excitement at knowing your mother was expecting another man's child. So, that night I broke my quarantine early to make it up to him the only way I could. I ended up pregnant again."

Katniss noticed a wistful smile spread across the older woman's face at her next recollection. "We were both excited about this one. We agreed it'd be the last. As it stood, three children was a risk in this district. If any of them turned out sickly, we'd lose them for certain. No one here can pocket the cost of medical care for a constantlty ailing infant and even Merchant families can't afford to be large here. I wanted my little girl, however, and he would have had a hundred if he could manage it."

Her expression dropped once more with her next words. "My heart broke when Peeta arrived. Not only did I want a girl, but logistically, a Merchant family can not have three sons." When she looked up to lock eyes with Katniss, not only did the Seam girl recognize the plead this time, but also unfathomable remorse and guilt.

"That's when I realized my terrible mistake in having my children, Katniss. I wanted to make someone love me. You can't _make_ anyone love you- no one can.

I learned that on the day Peeta was born.

Therefore, I closed off my heart to all of them. It was the only fair thing to do, after all. I would raise them, feed them, clothe them, but I would not become attached to them. They weren't really mine, anyway. I'd had them all for him and he had more than enough love to make up for any they'd lack from me."

The blonde's expression now hardened. "Then there was the practical side to what our family was, which had to be dealt with. In a Merchant family, the oldest son is heir. A second son can be co-owner if the first-born allows it, but things get tricky once they marry and have their own families. A third male son like Peeta…"

Katniss's eyes widened in realization and she blurted out the end to the older woman's statement before she could stop the words from leaving her mouth, "Peeta was going to end up in the mines. He was going to end up in the Seam."

This wasn't entirely unheard of in District Twelve. However, it was so rare, it hadn't occurred in either Katniss's or her parents' lifetime. And considering the reality that Merchant class tended to be of weaker constitution than Seam, if it happened before then, the poor soul didn't last long enough in the mines to live to tell the tale. The Merchants were very careful in their family planning to avoid just this kind of situation. They could easily afford the herbs that prevented pregnancy from the apothecary and Merchant families only had three children if the first-born was female, as it was expected that girls would marry into another Merchant family. Most Merchant families only had two children, however.

What Peeta's mother had done was unbelievably selfish. She'd condemned her youngest son to a life of misery from the day he was conceived.

As the two women faced off, it was clear to the raven-haired teen the older woman was fully aware of the repercussions on her acts. Her attrition laced the next words she spoke. "I tried to prepare him for what awaited him, you know. Yes, I was cruel, but the mines weren't going to be any more forgiving. What you call abuse, I call training for the future. And so that he could never say I singled him out, I was just as harsh to his older brothers. I was fair if not loving to them."

A tired sigh leaving her, the baker's wife narrowed her blue eyes once more at the younger woman, analyzing whether it was worth revealing the worst of her grievances. Slumping her shoulders resignedly, she went for it, "What I'm going to tell you now, Katniss, you probably might not want to share with my son if you do actually care for him, at all."

She ignored the slighted expression the Seam girl took on at the all-too-astute insinuation of indifference, continuing, "Even if I never allowed myself to show my boys affection, they're still my boys. They were in me and I took care of them. Ending up in the mines would have destroyed Peeta, maybe not physically, because we both know he's strong in that sense, but certainly psychologically. In addition, there is the stigma that comes to both the individual and the Merchant family that has to send a child to the mines…"

"In the hopes of maybe saving both Peeta and our family this humiliation and fate, I had him unknowingly sign up for tesserea for all of us when he was twelve to increase his odds at the Reapings." She ignored the disbelieving gasp that escaped the teen, as she finished quickly, "I never thought he'd be able to survive the Games and I hoped for a quick, honorable death in the arena for him instead of withering away to nothing in shame in some dank hole for forty years."

Katniss stared, mouth agape as a million things she could say- most of them scathing recriminations- scurried through her mind in a millisecond. When she was finally able to form cogent thoughts and words, she found all that came out was what she really wanted to know, "How can you look him in the eye after he came back a Victor when you never had faith in him a day in his life?"

A sincerely attritional if proud smile now split the Mellark woman's demeanor. "The very same way your mother looks at you for coming back alive, I'd imagine. I look at my son with the pride and commiseration of a Victor's mother. Even if he won't talk to me about the things that happened in the arena, I know he's reliving those nightmares everyday. I can see it in the dark circles under his eyes when I find him here at four in the morning, kneading bread to help his father out when he doesn't even have to work anymore."

"And I'm proud he found his own way of making it back. He didn't become vicious or cruel like I've seen some of these kids get. He just got the Girl On Fire to notice him enough to risk her life to save his." She punctuated this with a smirk and significant look. "That's certainly something to be proud of. I don't know if you've noticed, but my boys don't exactly get their talent for sweet talk from the Mellark side of the family and even if they didn't get it from me personally, I certainly provided the genetic material in that area. I'm guessing you're not exactly easily swayed by pretty words like most girls." She clucked her tongue, narrowing her eyes analytically. "Nah, my Peeta had to give it his all to get to you, didn't he? He's got a silver tongue, that one. He might not be as pretty as your 'cousin', but he certainly has more to say."

In the awkward silence that followed, Katniss felt the overwhelming need to say anything to fill the void. She'd simply learned too many things that were just plain wrong in this exchange not to say _something_. It almost felt as if remaining silent was somehow tantamount to becoming an accomplice to this woman's atrocities. "You can still make up for what you did to him now… you can make it up to all of them."

Shaking her head ruefully, the baker's wife responded, "I hate the fact that my eldest son married a Seam girl, Katniss. I hate that the heirs to this bakery are going to have that Seam look to them. I don't care about you and Peeta. You're both Victors. Your children- if children were ever to happen there-" The teenager managed to suppress the cringe the thought of having kids with anyone evoked admirably. "Will be venerated regardless what they look like, Flax's will be mocked if their skin is too dark or their eyes are too gray or their hair is not light enough to pass for Merchant. To make matters worse, it turned out in the end that Peeta wouldn't have ended up in the mines, at all- even if he hadn't been reaped. Rye's marrying the textiles store-owner's daughter as soon as she's out of Reaping age in two years- assuming she's not reaped, of course- and taking over their shop. They have an older son, but he isn't entirely right in the head. Therefore, as part of the bargain, my middle child is willing to take his simple-minded brother-in-law on as an apprentice. Peeta could have easily stayed on as a baker while Flax took on a management role at the bakery. If they were both sensible about keeping their families small, it would have worked. This variable never even crossed my mind and I needlessly alienated my sons."

Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, the young woman tried to think of a way to convince the woman before her that her relationships with her children were salvageable. Not for the woman's sake, of course, but for that of the azure-eyed boy who so often burdened her thoughts and whom she knew desperately needed the mother he'd been denied his entire existence. The Seam teenager ventured once more, "Peeta would forgive you if you explained why you did what you did. He's the most understanding person I know."

The sardonic scoff that abruptly erupted from the baker's wife was enough to make the Seam girl recoil. "Let's forget about my boy here for a second, girl. I know _you_ of all people _are not_ preaching to me on who is worthy of redemption. You're, by far, the most vindictive person I've ever come across in my life. You've never even forgiven _her_ for what she did when your old man passed and the whole district knows she was _actually sick_! You've got some nerve- offering what you yourself are incapable of on behalf of someone you've barely had contact with in weeks and for someone you know absolutely nothing about. You've got one heck of an inflated sense of entitlement there, Everdeen. I really, really admire that about you."

A tangible slap to the face would've stung less than this evil woman's words. Worst part was... there was at least a half-truth behind everything she'd uttered. She _had_ resented her mother for abandoning her and Prim to starve and she _was_ still to this day wary of allowing the woman who'd sired her within arms length of her heart. But, wasn't she trying? She hadn't given up like this monster had on her own children. She was trying! How dare she turn this entirely around on her like this!

Then, there was the fact that she'd brought up her forced alienation from Peeta.

Was the fact that they did everything possible to avoid each other so evident to everyone or just his family? The thought of him dredged up that familiar, confusing longing, along with about a dozen other emotions- both positive and negative- that threatened to swallow her whole if she dwelled on them for too long. Therefore, she squashed all of it back into the more remote recesses of her psyche, allowing only the indescribable rage this entire encounter had engendered within her to permeate as she darted for the door to the shop and swung it open with such violence, she thought she'd ripped it off the hinges.

Even through her anger, however, she would not allow the witch the last word in this. The boy she'd made the admitted error of setting foot in this god-forsaken place for deserved better than _that_. Sparing a second to lock her steel eyes in an icy sneer with the careless blues of the mother of her golden-haired neighbor, she ground out venomously, "Regardless what I am or ain't capable of... we both know Peeta's better than me. Peeta's better than all of us."

Then, she was out the door and down the steps in a mad dash for the Victor's Village.

* * *

She had no inkling who could've possibly been knocking. They weren't expecting anyone. However, seeing as her mother was otherwise occupied with preparing supper and Prim was finishing her homework in the den, she vociferated her willingness to play hostess for once and see who was calling at their door.

The last person she expected to see standing on her front porch was Peeta Mellark.

Judging from the awkward way he shifted his weight and the squared parcel he held in his hands upon noting she was the one who'd answered the door, he wasn't expecting her to be home from the woods yet. Once their eyes met in that strange waltz, skirting a razor's edge between the desired and the feared simultaneously, as was always the case nowadays when they happened upon each other's stare, she really wished she wasn't.

Always being the one to find the words- and if she was entirely honest with herself, the courage to use them- the baker's son was the first to break the terse silence, clearing his throat roughly and wrenching his eyes away from hers to fix on the box in his hands.

"Hello, Katniss."

Her heart clenched at his cool, detached tone and she found herself once again longing to hear that soft way he'd spoken to her in a cave, in what now seemed like a different lifetime. Even the liquid blue in his eyes had communicated warmth and comfort that had been almost all-consuming in that surreal abyss. Nothing about his demeanor offered any such aegis for her now. The knowledge that she'd been the one to push him away, caused this rift between them, only made each encounter all the more torturous.

"I spent the day at the bakery with my family and my mom asked me to bring this to you." He handed her the box, unable to keep the mirth from igniting the azure in his eyes as the Seam huntress eyed the token as if it might explode.

At the sheer level of mistrust splayed across her features as she held the cardboard box, the blonde couldn't help take pity on her and decided to supply, "It's an orange flavored cake? She said you put in a special request for it. She asked me to try to get oranges from Eleven to make it for you about a week ago. They were out of season and ridiculously expensive, but I was able to get a batch in a couple days ago."

Something resembling a cross between a shocked cringe and an impressed grin and which the Seam huntress made a predictably poor job at suppressing, tugged at the corners of the girl's mouth as she regarded the unopened box with renewed interest.

The baker's wife was incorrigible!

Katniss honestly couldn't tell if she should be happy that this gesture was proof positive that, in spite of their aloofness, the boy with the bread still cared enough to do something like this for her, or furious that the succubus who'd given birth to him used him to proof her sick point. She'd clearly gathered from their conversation about a week prior, that although the baker's wife approved of her as consort for her youngest son, she found his devotion and generosity toward her a weakness to be disdained.

She made an attempt to play off her outraged enmity at the 'gift' she held by replying with as much nonchalance as she could muster, "Oh, yeah. I'd completely forgotten I'd ordered this. How much do I owe you and your folks for all the extra work in getting the ingredients?"

Peeta narrowed his eyes in unabridged skepticism, scrutinizing the girl he'd learned to read like a book since the age of five, before deciding to be completely blunt, "You're seriously the worst liar ever, Katniss. You had no idea Mom asked me to make this! And from the look on your face, I'm guessing she didn't come up with the notion of it because it's one of your favorites, either. Do you even _know_ what orange-flavored cake tastes like? I've been baking since I can remember and I've never even heard of this, so I'm fairly certain you've never had it before in _your_ life. I don't suppose you want to enlighten me as to why my mother just had me deliver this concoction here today, do you?"

She wasn't exactly certain why, but having him see right through her subterfuge irked her to no end. She found her defenses coming up as quickly as her temper. Upon further consideration, she'd later realize her indignation had nothing to do with the boy before her and everything to do with his uncanny ability to disarm her, leaving her vulnerable. She was decidedly not okay with the realization that he held this power over her. No one was allowed that much power over her.

Not to mention, she wasn't about to admit how flattered she was he'd gone through all this trouble just to make a cake he _thought_ she wanted. Her pride and fragmented emotions simply couldn't handle that kind of a blow. And telling him the cake might be his sociopathic mother's warped attempt at match-making while asserting her dominance by proving she was right about what the son she viewed as pathetic was willing to do for her... that was simply out of the question. That woman had damage this boy enough!

So naturally, she went for her favored weapon when cornered- misplaced, blind antagonism. "How do you know I wouldn't like it? I love oranges and I love orange juice. For all you know, I'd love orange cake. And as for why your mother had you make it for me? She's _your_ mother. You should understand the insane things she does better than I do. Just tell me what I owe you for getting the stupid oranges here, okay!"

No one really knew how much reticence it took on the part of the baker's youngest to deal with his crush's erratic moods without surrendering to that all-too-human urge to reciprocate in kind. Nevertheless, any onlooker who saw the way the sixteen-year-old brought his hand up to rub the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes and exhaling deeply before regarding the sneering girl before him with a tightly guarded expression, would be blind not to recognize the kid was a well of equanimity.

Whatever this was his mother and Katniss were playing at without his knowledge, he was honestly in no mood to be bothered to interlope in it. Furthermore, he certainly wasn't in the mood to argue with a girl he was barely even speaking to but still managed to headline the few decent dreams he had nowadays that didn't feature monstrosities and slaughtered children. "I don't care about the oranges, Katniss. Enjoy your cake. I have to get back to my folks' place for dinner…"

The steel-eyed girl watched him turn away and walk down the steps, before conjuring up the nerve- or sufficiently squelching the guilt, she wasn't sure which won out over the other at the moment- to make her inquiry, "Peeta, wait!"

The blonde stopped, inclining his head toward the sound of her voice, but not venturing a full turn to face her. Katniss took this as good enough indication she had his attention. After how she'd just treated him, she couldn't really expect more. She hoped her voice didn't sound too needy. "Did your mother give you a message for me or anything like that along with the cake?"

This got the azure-eyed teen's attention. He turned fully to face her, an intrigued eyebrow arching high on his forehead and a curiously knowing grin splitting his demeanor as he noted the beseeching gleam to the Seam huntress' eyes that no amount of scowling could truly disguise.

Now he was titillated. He was definitely going to figure out the details of this little cold war so evidently being waged between his mother and this fascinating, elusive girl.

Of course, there was absolutely no reason _she_ had to know about his new-found interest. With a devil-may-care shrug to his shoulders, he retorted flatly, "Nope. She just told me there was something she needed to talk to me about after dinner."

Then, he turned to continue down the path leading away from the Victor's Village into town. But not before he caught a good glimpse of her eyes widening to the size of saucers as a myriad of emotions from anxiety, to anger, to even something akin to hope, flitted across her expressive features in such a flurried succession, he had to suppress a chuckle at the mere sight.

* * *

Dinner with his family was the usual affair.

Flax talked about how he'd spoken to the tailor and Chrys should be starting her apprenticeship by month's end. The old shopkeeper wanted to make sure everyone in town was more acclimated to her presence amongst them before taking her on. He had no wish to lose customers because of her, after all.

Rye gave a thrilling recap about a wrestling tournament he'd been part of in school that day… thrilling if you find the graphic depiction of someone dislocating someone else's shoulder thrilling, anyway. He didn't even notice how his baby brother cringed through his entire narration, trying desperately not to have waking nightmares of the horrors he'd witnessed a couple months prior.

The baker and his wife didn't contribute to the dinnertime discussion. They seldom ever did.

The Mellark patriarch had always preferred to indulge in hearing about his sons' day rather than apportion anything to their discourse. The baker's wife had simply never felt the desire to partake in the camaraderie her sons' dinner conversations always seemed to beget.

Once dinner was finished, Peeta offered to help his sister-in-law clean up in the kitchen while the rest of the family disbursed to their nightly routines. The sixteen-year-old wasn't certain what those routines were anymore, as he no longer lived there.

As they washed dishes, Chrys told him about an extremely rude customer she'd had to deal with that day. Apparently, the woman had referred to her as a Seam slut right to her face.

He frowned in indignation at the audacity of that ignoramus and verbalized his opinion. However, the Seam seamstress shrugged it off with a carefree smile, replying she'd been called worse by far better folk than _that_ and her skin was far too thick to let trash like that get to her.

He couldn't help admire her strength.

About halfway through the dishes, she yawned and the teenager all but ordered her out of the kitchen so she could get some sleep. She obliged grudgingly with a friendly squeeze to his shoulder and a snarky remark about his oldest brother not letting her get proper rest anyway. He laughed as she exited the kitchen.

As soon as he finished the dishes from dinner, he set about preparing enough dough for a dozen loaves of bread. He was in the process of kneading the dough when he heard someone enter the kitchen and turned to see his mother staring at him curiously. "Your father was going to take care of that in the morning, you know. That's not your job, anymore. Heck, you don't even live here, anymore."

With a nonchalant shrug to one shoulder her youngest son turned back to continue what he was doing. Without looking up from his task, he directed his inquiry at her, a rare intensity and authority lazing his intonation, "Why did I make and deliver a cake to Katniss she never ordered, Mom?"

Not bothering to hide her amusement at her son's obvious displeasure, the older blonde took a seat at the stool closest to where he worked so he could see her out of his periphery. She propped her elbow on the table, leaning her head on her fist as she answered matter-of-factly, "I figured it wouldn't hurt reminding your little sanctimonious "girlfriend" you care about her as much as she cares about you, seeing as you two barely talk to each other."

When he turned to send her a questioning glare, she supplied, "She came in here about a week ago, you know… all fire and brimstone at how poorly I treated you while you were growing up." She ignored the way his brows raised in earnest surprise at that tidbit, continuing, "You can't help but admire that girl's fighting spirit, even if she was completely oblivious as to what she was in here fighting for…"

Huffing out an angry breath, the teenager slammed down the dough he'd been kneading to turn blazing liquid blue fire on his mother. "Katniss is off limits, Mother! I don't want to find out you're messing with her."

The amusement didn't leave her blue eyes as they narrowed analytically at her last-born son. "She does bring out _something_ in you, doesn't she, Peeta? This righteous indignation… you've always had a knack for talking back. You were always downright brave to the extreme of stupidity, to be quite honest. This passion, however... this is new."

Peeta's jaw clenched as the unwelcome truth of his mother's words set in. He wrenched his eyes away from hers and down to the dough he'd been working. Inches away from beginning to knead it once more, her candid, emotionless words froze him.

"She feels that same _something_ toward you, Peeta."

She waited for his predictably hope-filled eyes to meet hers again before she continued just as flatly, "In spite of the fact that she hides away in the woods every Sunday with a man any woman who's not blind would find breath-taking, she still has that for you."

"You can't blame her for being confused by it, really. Heck, I'm confused by it. Why would any girl who so obviously has Hawthorne wrapped around her little finger even consider the likes of _you_?"

Unfazed by his mother's harsh words after facing far worse villains as of late, the sixteen-year-old smiled genuinely. "I have more to offer, Mom… and I'm not just talking as a Victor. I mean as a _man_. You wouldn't know anything about that because you were too distracted beating discipline into us to bother noticing the kind of men you were raising any of us to be. But the honest truth, whether you accept it or not, is that any girl would be very fortunate to have me. My relationship with Katniss is complicated for reasons beyond your scope of understanding and, quite honestly, none of your business."

The humor left her eyes at the intensity she found burning in her son's. Realizing she'd lost even the bond of fear that had once bound this child to her, she decided she had nothing to lose in revealing the truth to him. She cast her eyes down to the table as she spoke, "While Katniss was here, I told her why you'd most likely been reaped even though it's so rare for a Merchant child's name to be drawn."

Before she could continue, the teenager cut her off with an inquiry of his own, a look of mortified surprise splayed across his face, "You told her you had me sign up for tesserea when I was twelve?"

Her eyes instantly darted up to meet his in shock. "You knew you were signing up for tesserea?" The pale pools of blue scurried nervously from place to place in the kitchen as if some corner of the space held the atonement she pursued, before landing back on her son. "Why'd you still sign the papers if you knew what they were?"

He stared at her as if he didn't recognize her anymore, letting out in a slow, tacit voice, "I was twelve, Mom. I'm not slow-witted. I could read what was on the forms. I'd hoped you were having me sign up to keep me out of the mines. I always knew that was a very real possibility for me as the last born. As to why _I_ chose to sign? Every time my name went into those reaping bowls meant the odds my brothers' names were called diminished. That was more than enough reason for me. If I had to die for them to make it out of the drawings alive, I was willing to do that."

The baker's wife stood and walked sullenly to the doorway of the kitchen, then turned to ask the one question of her youngest son she found she was most afraid to know the answer to. She tried to word it in the least comprising way she could, "I did have you sign up for the rations to keep you out of the mines- to both save you strife and keep our family from the shame of it. I won't lie about why I did it. I refuse to. While Katniss was here she said…" She took a shuddering breath before she squared her shoulders and locked eyes determinedly with him. "Can you move beyond that with me?"

That strange lack of recognition flitted across Peeta's countenance as he answered honestly, "Mom, I forgave you for that in the Justice Building the day I signed those papers when I was twelve."

A bitter laugh erupted from the baker's wife as she opened the door to leave her son to his work. As she walked out, she shot sardonically over her shoulder, "I'll be darned if that Everdeen girl didn't still manage to get one over on me tonight. You really do have to admire her. She was right..."

"You _are_ better than all of us."


	3. Shared Sins and Uncast Stones

Was it normal for a twelve-year-old to outgrow a brand new pair of shoes in three months?

The raven-haired teen knew her baby sister was at that age where children were prone to growth spurts, but this seemed ridiculous! _She_ never grew this fast, though that was likely due to that particularly nasty bout of malnutrition and near-starvation coinciding perfectly with the time in her life when she was supposed to be embarking on that wondrous journey to womanhood.

Maybe, that was the reason she was so short.

It would certainly explain why she was almost fourteen when her monthly cycle began. Malnourishment could really wreak havoc on a developing body.

She suppressed a smile at that particular memory as she made her way down the path from the Victor's Village, heading to the shoe shop in town.

It had been Friday. She hadn't felt well at all throughout that entire day, but still decided to join Gale on the snare run, ever zealous to learn all she could about the older boy's natural adroitness at the art of luring prey to their unwitting ends within his traps.

Gale had been aware something was off the instant they entered the woods. It was early Spring. Animals should've been literally buzzing around them, but not a living thing came within visual range. She'd also been especially tacit and removed as they worked the lines.

One would've thought that would prepare her for when the, at the time, sixteen-year-old turned to her suddenly upon reaching the fence and stated with a lack of tact that spoke volumes of having only practical experience with younger male siblings, "Don't come out hunting with me when you have your period, Catnip. Animals can smell you from a mile away. You're useless when you're bleeding." Then, he strutted off, leaving her slack-jawed and gaping after him.

She'd been too mortified to even accompany the older boy to the Hob to trade their take from the snares, instead running all the way home while trying her best to avoid looking anyone in the eye. The moment she'd entered her family's small shack, she'd barricaded herself in the tiny wash room- much to her mother and younger sister's befuddlement.

It had taken nearly ten minutes sitting on the commode before dredging up the nerve to pull down her pants to confirm if what her friend stated was true. It took another five to accept the reality that she _was_ biologically female beyond any rebuttal after this juncture.

Funny how this tidbit curiously managed to slip beyond the fringes of her awareness, seeing as she found herself so very much at ease traipsing through the woods, killing things for survival, getting so grimy at times, she could barely tell what color her hands were. And, of course, spending more time with a member of the opposite sex than she did anyone else in her life without realizing she wasn't actually the kid's gender. Well, at least not until he'd so eloquently pointed out the obvious that day.

She was certain other _girls_ didn't do any of the things she relished doing out in the woods. She certainly hadn't seen any others trying. Yes, it was illegal to cross the fence, but some still ventured beyond to forage occasionally. She'd never seen any other females enjoy it as much as she did. Maybe, that's why it'd slipped her mind she was one of them.

The rigors of her life had made it so easy to forget, in fact, that she'd come to view herself on the same sphere as her own best friend and every other male.

That is, until Peeta Mellark had kissed her _that_ _way_ in the cave in their Games, making her want more and, in the process, confusing her entire perception of what she believed she was supposed to be.

The baker's son had made her feel feminine and unmistakably desired for the simple fact of having been born into her gender for the very first time in her life. It both thrilled and terrified her and yet, somehow, she yearned for more. She longed for it in spite of the confusion that accompanied that longing.

Her rational mind knew this wasn't fair. She'd purposely distanced herself from her neighbor in order to sort through what the Capitol had instilled in her in that arena and what she actually felt towards the blonde. It had been three months and she'd made no headway sorting through the emotional bedlam the mere thought of her nuanced relationship with Peeta conjured.

Gale kissing her hadn't helped any. It just added to the maelstrom and managed to make the one day she got to spend hunting with her best friend awkward. She found herself unwittingly comparing that kiss she'd shared with him to that one special one amongst the countless others she'd shared with the baker's son far too often. Every time she reached the inevitable conclusion that she longed to feel what she felt with one of them above the other, the guilt and that pesky sense of being a betrayer would nearly suffocate her.

Therefore, she continued to long from afar, denying herself what- although fulfilling a selfish desire- would undoubtedly hurt someone she cared about. She couldn't bring herself to do that to him. Not when she wasn't even sure what she felt was real or something the Capitol forced upon her.

She was still musing over these things as she made it to the shoe store. There, an entirely new twinge joined the fray within her already jumbled emotions… jealousy.

Delly Cartwright was the last person Katniss Everdeen would ever covet normally.

The girl was nice- smother you with compliments and well-wishes- nice. She was so effervescent; the Seam huntress was at an honest loss as to how she was supposed to respond to her level of energy half the time since she was so naturally introverted herself.

Worst of all, Delly hero-worshipped her.

It wasn't like the fake token praise for winning the Games all the other townsfolk offered as if it was compulsory to rain adulation upon her as Victor. This girl really looked up to her- no duplicity whatsoever.

Therefore, it could easily be said that the voluptuous cherry blonde was the most innocuous person to Katniss conceivable.

None of this sensible insight mattered squat, however, once the steel-eyed teen made it to the front of the shop, close enough to see inside the large display window. The undeserved animosity towards the shoe shop owner's daughter was instantaneous the moment she saw her chatting and giggling amicably within her parents' store, surrounded by a group of around seven other Merchant kids. This in itself wasn't the cause of the ebony's escalating ire, however.

No. What had Katniss stewing in her boots was the fact that draped across the shoulders of the aforementioned blonde, was the arm of the boy who lived three houses down from hers in the Victor's Village. He laughed carelessly at what was being discussed, leaning against the counter with Delly.

The feeling was entirely baseless and unwarranted, but she had the overwhelming urge to rip his arm off her and slap him hard enough to leave a mark!

Whoa! Where had _that_ come from?

Pulling away from the window and shaking her head vigorously to clear that dark and deeply confusing train of thought, Katniss briskly walked away from the shoe store to the tailor's shop. She'd put in an order for a few dresses for her mother and could distract her mind from dwelling on her reaction to what she'd just witnessed by checking on that instead.

She didn't realize she was still so outwardly affected until the silver-eyed young woman behind the counter in the tailor's shop spoke up, concern marked clearly in her searching gaze. "Are you alright, Katniss?"

The sixteen-year-old startled briefly, having forgotten completely who the tailor's new apprentice was. She tried to play it off with a nonchalant wave of her hand in greeting. "Yeah, I'm fine, Chrys. I just came in to see if my order was ready-" She paused to better scrutinize the wife of the baker's oldest son.

She seemed flushed and, although she was fairly distracted when she'd first walked into the shop, she was quite certain she'd heard the sound of retching coming from the back room before the seamstress emerged to greet her. She narrowed her eyes at the older Seam girl. "Are _you_ alright?"

Flax's wife actually grew paler as she smiled weakly with a careless shrug of a shoulder. "I'm sure I just caught something that's not agreeing with me particularly well."

The Seam huntress nodded, accepting the words at face value. However, her eyes couldn't help travel to the right hand of the woman standing before her, which was subconsciously rubbing circles on her lower abdomen.

This was one of those situations where being reared by a healer came in handy. Not that you had to be the daughter of a healer to put two and two together here, considering how early in the morning it was…

"My mother makes a tea out of a root that can help you feel better until this," she made a sweeping gesture at the older girl's middle, "passes. It's helped a lot of other women in the Seam over the years when they _catch_ this." She made sure to put emphasis on that word.

Chrys cocked her head slightly, her smile growing sad, apprehensive, as she considered confiding in the younger girl. Finally, she let out a tired snort, "Flax doesn't know. No one does." Her silver eyes grew hollow and haunted, staring through her into something she seemed almost reluctant to acknowledge. "Multiples are common in my family, Katniss. It's how I lost my mother. I have a cousin who lost his mother and brother the same way. My aunts on Daddy's side took their ma..."

Realization dawned on the sixteen-year-old at the seamstress' words. The girl was terrified of what this pregnancy could mean if she'd inherited her family's unfortunate propensity towards engendering twins. In the Seam, almost no woman survived giving birth to more than one child at a time and many lost their lives bringing just one into the world. The prospect of multiple births was nearly a death sentence to the mother and, often times, the newborns.

Not being particularly good with words, but feeling an overpowering need to comfort this distraught young woman who was almost certainly doomed if the product of her womb was what she indeed feared; the Seam huntress blurted out what was at the forefront of her thoughts in an effort to change the subject, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. Unfortunately, since she'd just come from the shoe store…

"Are Peeta and Delly Cartwright an item now?"

She actually winced at how desperate her voice sounded to her own ears and instantly wished she could take the inquiry back. It was honestly not even any of her business! What was _wrong_ with her?

Caught completely unawares by the younger girls inquiry, the seamstress' eyes darted to lock with hers in a mix of confusion and gratitude. She wasn't particularly fond of the track her thoughts had been treading and the misdirection was definitely welcome, but she certainly hadn't expected the turn in topics the girl had taken. Then again, her youngest brother-in-law was technically still somehow involved with her, as far as she knew. She deserved honesty.

Her brow furrowed in sincere consternation as she answered earnestly, "Peeta's been around the block his share, Katniss, but never with Delly. She's like a sister to him. They're best friends."

The sixteen-year-old narrowed her eyes as she dissected that response in her head before deciding she found quite a bit of fault with it. She brought her arms up to cross under her chest, trying to keep her temper as level as possible. After all, it wasn't this poor girl's fault her fake boyfriend liked spending time with other girls. She wasn't even sure why she was taking offense to any of this. It still didn't take any of the edge off her next inquiry. "What does 'been around the block' mean, exactly? And why does Peeta have a girl for a best friend?"

Was she actually asking this? Why was she asking this? She had absolutely no right to care what her neighbor did! That's all he was to her now- _a neighbor_.

The older Seam teenager's eyes widened in disbelieving bemusement, leaning on the counter with a knowing grin as she worded her response mirthfully. "You're kidding, right? Peeta has two older brothers. Rye's pretty much his best male friend. Why would he want another one? Besides, isn't Gale Hawthorne _your_ best friend? There have always even been rumors he's more than that, but that's none of mine or anyone else's business. The point is, everyone who's close to Peeta knows full well you're not 'cousins', as most of the district now believes, and it's plain to see you're very close. You're not exactly in a position to throw stones when you're so inconveniently housed in glass yourself."

Katniss' shoulders slumped dejected at the incontrovertible logic in that. She'd never needed the company of the members of her own sex growing up. She had Prim. She accepted Madge's company in school mostly out of mutual lack of other options and, only very recently, started seeing her as a true friend, both of them frequenting each other's homes.

As her anger ebbed as result of calm reasoning, other emotions like attrition and shame started intermingling at her acknowledgement that she was indeed being a hypocrite. Hurt, sadness and an odd jilted feeling mixed in within a nanosecond. She briefly mused if this was how Peeta felt whenever he saw her with Gale. If it was, she had no idea how he'd suffered through five years of it.

Noting she'd struck a nerve with her last statement, Chrys resolved to continue playing devil's advocate on her brother-in-law's behalf. "As for the other thing, Katniss…" she shrugged with a flippant smile, "The Mellark boys are known for being charmers. They know their way around girls. All three were popular in school. I wouldn't know personally, but I used to hear the younger girls say Peeta was an amazing kisser. _You_ could probably enlighten _me_ there, actually. There was this weird myth floating around that he did something other-worldly with his tongue?"

Katniss suddenly found the grain on the wood floor by her feet supremely fascinating, feeling the heat of a furious blush creep up her neck into her cheeks. She knew exactly what those girls were referring to when they spoke of the youngest Mellark's proficient tongue. She'd only reaped its benefits once… but boy, did she know!

This thought led to the cognizance that he'd practiced on others before her, which only served in rekindling that unprompted bout of invidiousness from before. So acute and abrupt was her spike in temper, she failed to notice the screeching pitch the quality of her voice attained. "Well, for someone who he supposedly considers his sister, he's certainly open about putting his arms all over her in front of everyone!"

Choosing to forgo commenting on the blatant fact the girl before her was conspicuously jealous of the cherry blonde's relationship with Peeta and doing a piss-poor job at disguising it, the seamstress segued the conversation in a different direction with admirable ease. "Around her waist or around her shoulders?"

The Seam huntress recoiled in stupefaction, not expecting a question and far too flustered to string together a cogent enough thread of thought to answer anything beyond a muddled "W-what?"

Cocking her head slightly in empathy, the seamstress elaborated, "The Mellark boys like to touch, Katniss. It's how they express affection. I found it odd too, at first. We Seam folk don't generally like people _touching_ us unless they're kin. But, these boys… they were literally starved for female affection growing up, thanks to the witch who raised them. That void manifests itself as this tendency to convey emotion through touch. They all do it and they all love having it done in return. Heck, if you're female and want to make any one of their day- just give them a hug! I think that's how Lacy got Rye, believe it or not." She let out a gleeful giggle that made her appear years younger to Katniss. "I would find the entire thing absolutely endearing if I didn't know the root of it was so terribly tragic. That's why I asked you where Peeta's hands were on Delly. Shoulders or higher up on the body is brotherly for them. Once it dips to the stomach or waist… that's more intimate."

Katniss demeanor fell sullenly at the girl's words.

Peeta had his arm around Delly's shoulders in her shop. He'd been drawing much needed comfort from his best friend- comfort _she'd_ selfishly denied him for months. Comfort he, more than anyone, deserved.

As that all-too-familiar feeling of remorse and longing churned up in the pit of her stomach, she thought back to all those times Peeta had embraced her, kissed her, interlaced his finger with hers after she'd found him in the Games and once they'd returned to the district.

She'd known he'd put his all into the act for the cameras upon their arrival, but learning this now, she realized at how truly steep a cost. For someone like him, someone who cared about her so deeply, to be forced to use those gestures he found so assuaging as fodder to appease the Capitol hoards- it made her horror and shame all the more egregious.

She owed dividends to the boy with the bread and the interest was only gaining exponentially.

Completely lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed she was standing at the door to the tailor's shop until Chrys' voice once more broke into her reverie.

"Katniss! Didn't you come in here to check on your order?"

Looking at the older teen as if realizing she was in the room for the first time, the steel-eyed girl shook her head dismissively. "Never mind. I can come back later. I need to go get Prim some new shoes."

Then, she was out the door and determinedly making her way to the Cartwrights' shop.

* * *

He wasn't entirely certain where the concept to do this had actualized within his, nowadays, sometimes deeply troubled psyche.

It'd been unseasonably warm for a late autumn night when he'd woken frozen in fear on his bed. Well, considering it was past midnight, it was an unseasonably warm morning, anyway.

Usually when this happened, he'd untangle himself from the confines of his bedding and- in a bedraggled, sleep-induced haze- made his way to his studio to put down on canvas whatever hellion monstrosities had headlined his dreams that night, hoping to exhaust himself thoroughly enough to get back to sleep for a few more hours.

However, things had been different that night. He couldn't conjure forth any imagery from the nightmare. The only recollection that came to him was that of overwhelming horror, grief and loss that seamed to burn through his skin, consuming his bones.

As he'd laid there, sweating and waiting for his breathing to come as something other than shuddering gasps, he'd come to two inescapable revelations: whatever he'd dreamt was far too abstract to capture on any form of medium he possessed and, resultantly, he was not getting any more sleep that night.

Consequently, he'd toilsomely made his way out of bed and into his adjoining bath for a shower, resigning himself to start his day at whatever ungodly hour it happened to be. Once he was showered, dressed in comfortable khaki slacks and a long-sleeved, button-up shirt and making his way downstairs, he'd caught sight of the grandfather clock at the foot of the landing.

It was two forty-seven in the morning.

It was Sunday, his father's only day to sleep in at the bakery. There was no way he could go there and start up the pre-opening prep work without making any noise at all. Lord knew, his father needed the rest. The bakery was out of the question.

He could always stay in and bake something for the Everdeens and Haymitch, but that only killed an hour at most for someone like him and, after the night he'd had, he found his solitary house unbearably stifling in the darkness.

That is when the odd idea occurred to him.

He'd hurried upstairs to his art room, retrieving a large canvas paper notebook he'd acquired as an impulse purchase from the Capitol- and now was eternally grateful to own- and his entire watercolor kit, which was housed in a convenient leather carry-on. Filling four water receptacles briefly in the kitchen before sealing them and placing them in the bag with the paints, he'd made his way out of his home, heading for the town square.

And so, here he was, sitting cross-legged on the grass about a fifty yards in front of mayor Undersee's house. It had taken him a good minute to position his cybernetic leg comfortably enough to sit this way, but it was well worth it.

He'd started off by painting his family's bakery, then the general store, Delly's shop, the machinists shop…

He really had no inkling why the urge had struck him to make a visual record of the Town Square, his childhood home. He just felt absolutely compelled to do so after waking from whatever it was he dreamed that morning.

It had been hours before dawn when he'd started, but he was aided in his endeavor by the light of a prominent, brilliant full Autumnal moon that basked everything in a surreal, almost ethereal glow. The end effect made those first compositions almost oneiric in quality, which he'd found very requiting.

Now, as he sketched the finishing touches on the mayor's home- the final domicile he'd yet to portray in town- dawn was just breaking through the few clouds scattered on the horizon, rewarding him with a breathtaking kaleidoscope of yellows, reds, oranges, blues and purples as backdrop to this final painting.

Oh, yes! This was decidedly worth losing some sleep over!

As his fingers worked quickly with the brush to capture what he knew would be a fleeting spectacle of celestial hues, he caught a movement out of his periphery and paused briefly to glance in that direction.

He caught sight of Gale Hawthorne heading towards the Undersees' residence. He was dressed in the rugged pants, shirt and leather vest he sported on all the other occasions the blonde had noticed him accompanying Katniss on her felonious routine of hunting in the woods beyond the district every Sunday. Or, maybe it was the other way around an she accompanied him?

Not that it much mattered to the sixteen-year-old. The mere thought of whatever went on between those two once they were beyond the fringes of the district, in the solitude of the forests beyond, made a decidedly unwelcome knot of jealousy twist his insides. He always made a conscious effort not to dwell on the notion for too long. It wasn't particularly healthy for any of those implicated.

As he continued to observe, the Seam hunter came to the front of the house and stopped at the door without knocking. This struck the baker's son as odd. He knew from personal experience, Gale and Katniss traded at Merchants' back doors, not at their front.

Furthermore, though he knew Gale had a tendency to trade very early in the mornings, as he'd often come to the bakery when his father was starting prep work at dawn to avoid dealing with his mother, this wasn't a Merchant home he was visiting before six in the morning. This was the mayor's house.

He was further baffled when the front door opened and out stepped Madge Undersee, looking as if she'd been entirely expecting the eighteen-year-old to be at her doorstep before the sun was even up, as if this was no aberration. The baker's son was far too astute not to realize this was a prearranged rendezvous.

He felt both a sense of interloping and entitlement as the tête-à-tête unfolded before him. There was that air of infringing on a private confidence, as it was plainly obvious both parties were entirely unaware of their audience of one. However, this boy was technically his competition for the affections of the only girl he'd ever loved and was presently still pining for, so Peeta couldn't help feel justified in learning what exactly the eighteen-year-old was doing at dawn with his supposed best friend's only other female friend. He could always justify his spying on Gale to his guilt-ridden conscious later with the excuse that he had Katniss' best interest at heart.

He adamantly ignored that little voice in the back of his mind that called ' _bull'_.

After a brief conversation, likely a greeting, Hawthorne pulled his game bag from over his shoulder, digging inside for a paper-wrapped package. He swiftly handed it to the younger blonde, who excitedly pulled the strings and unwrapped it to reveal its contents.

From his position fifty yards away, there was no way for the baker's son to see what the parcel contained, but he was definitely privy to the recipient's reaction to whatever was within.

The moment she saw what Gale had given her, Madge's eyes widened in gleeful excitement and, within the blink of an eye, folded whatever it was back in the paper. Flinging her arms around the Seam hunter's neck, she all but attacked the older boys lips with her own.

Peeta could tell from the step Gale had to take back to maintain his balance and the reluctant way his hands came up to land on the girl's lower back for support, he had not been expecting that kind of reaction from her. The sixteen-year-old ascertained she'd likely never reacted that way to him before. Nevertheless, after about two seconds of deliberating, the Seam hunter leaned in, wrapping his arms around the Merchant girl's waist and responding to the kiss with the same intensity.

Witnessing this made the youngest Mellark's blood inexplicably boil.

This was who Katniss was conflicted about her feelings for him over? Someone who had a 'plan B' waiting for him the second she turned her back? This was Hawthorne's concept of loyalty? This was not competition! This was a freaking insult!

He continued wallowing in his righteous indignation as the would-be pair pulled away from each other abruptly, the Seam teenager saying something into the mayor's daughter's ear that caused her expression to fall. Then, he turned to walk away, but just before he did, he turned back and quickly leaned in to place a quick kiss on her cheek.

Madge watched him retreat in the direction of the meadow with a soft, sad smile before disappearing back into her family home.

Peeta ruminated this last scene as he sat there, open sketchbook still in hand. He'd never been one to allow rage to cloud his judgment and something about that parting between Gale and Madge felt familiar to him, kindred.

Then, it came to him with the force of a freight train.

He and the Seam hunter were on the exact same pitiful playing field when it came to that certain steel-eyed, sixteen-year-old living three houses down from his. She had them both in an emotional limbo. They both wanted her, but she was unwilling to commit to either of them, so they waited. However, they were normal, healthy, hormonal teenage males with no _real_ binding obligation to anyone. They were both technically single and free to do as they wished. It was a conflicting paradox, indeed.

The more he thought about it, the less he could fault Hawthorne for what he'd just seen between him and the mayor's daughter.

After all, he'd done the exact same thing.

The moment the cameras left after their arrival back in Twelve and he wasn't under constant surveillance, he'd sought out his friends.

First, he'd gone to see Delly, who'd clung to him like a second skin while crying hysterically, first in relief at having him back alive from the Games and then at the loss of his leg. He had to admit to shedding a few tears with his best friend that day.

Delly had insisted on accompanying him to see the metalworker's children with Rye next. That visit had turned out very memorable.

Acier had instantly wrapped him in a hug, also shedding tears of joy over having him back with them and commenting about being so proud of how he'd handled himself in the arena. Then, Joaillier had stepped forth with that arrogance and undeserved, inflated sense of self-worth that was so uniquely him. He'd thought it prudent to greet the new Victor with crossed arms, a sly grin and a very impudent, "Hey, Killer! Loved your Games! Would've been even more impressive if you'd come back in one piece, though…"

Peeta'd been fairly certain Joe'd had more on his mind that day, but alas, they'd never gotten the chance to hear it since Rye's fist made such swift and effective contact with the eighteen-year-old blonde's mandible. When the boy regained consciousness, his jaw had already been wired shut to aid in the healing process of the dislocation.

After that eventful visit, the baker's youngest made the wise decision to see his next friend on his own.

The moment the cobbler's youngest daughter had seen him walk into her parents' shop, she'd darted around the counter to meet him. Before he could get a single word out in greeting, her lips were on his and her fingers were fisting into his ash blonde locks as if he'd disappear if she relinquished her hold.

He hadn't known if it was wrong or right. He hadn't cared. He'd been hurt and angry and reeling from Katniss' rejection. He'd _needed_ that. He'd _wanted_ that!

He'd found himself responding to Solei's kiss with such ardor, he'd backed her into one of the walls of the shop without even breaking for air and without noticing. If it hadn't been for her mother clearing her throat roughly, they would've remained blissfully oblivious to the reality that they were making out in the middle of the very public shop.

When they'd pulled apart at the sound and turned to face the cobbler's wife, she'd smiled and gestured toward the back of the store with her chin. The woman's youngest daughter had instantly grabbed a fistful of the new Victor's shirt, dragging him through the door to the back room. The moment they were out of public scrutiny, their lips had found each other again.

This continued for close to half an hour and would likely have gone on longer had it not been for the cobbler's daughter making what she thought to be an innocent, breathless comment as the baker's son kissed her jaw. "I knew it was all a hoax for the Capitol, Peeta. I knew you couldn't possibly love _her_ since you were five. You went out with me when we were fourteen, after all. You're here with _me_ now. Where is your Girl on Fire now, huh?"

These were the words it'd taken for Peeta Mellark to realize just how wrong doing this with this girl had been.

Pulling away from her so they could lock eyes, he'd stated with as much finality and sincerity as he could muster, "I do love her, Solei. I'm sorry. This was a mistake. We settled things between us years ago. We're friends. I need to go." Then, he'd tried to leave, wrenching his eyes away from her crestfallen, confused pools of blue- eyes that looked so much like Madge's had when Gale had said whatever he had to her before leaving to hunt with Katniss for the day.

Only the cobbler's daughter hadn't allowed him a clean getaway that day. Pulling him back by gripping tightly on his arm, she'd stared him square in the eye, promising with determination, "Yes, Peeta. I'm your friend. I'll always be your friend, but I'm not making my sister's mistake. I know a good thing when I see it and I'm patient, just like you. If you love her, by all means, go get her. But, don't forget you have other options. Don't be anyone's second choice. You're _not_ second to _anyone_. If she wants to relegate you to that… you come see me, all right?"

He hadn't known how to respond to that, so he'd said nothing at all. He'd just wrapped his arms around her and hoped that gesture conveyed the gratitude words simply failed to.

Peeta now found himself growing angry for an entirely different reason.

Realizing that Gale and he were in the same purgatory when it came to the girl they most cared for because of said girl's emotional vacuousness had managed to reignite that enmity toward her he so often had to endeavor to suppress.

This thing Katniss was doing where she strung both of them along without ever decidedly relinquishing her hold over either of them was downright cruel! And the worst part of it was, she was so completely oblivious, she wasn't even consciously doing any of it!

Releasing an infuriated, frustrated grunt, the sixteen-year-old gathered his painting equipment and sketchbook. Admittedly with some degree of difficulty- since his real leg had fallen asleep and the other was dead weight- he got to his feet, making his way to his parents' bakery.

What he'd witnessed had left him angry, but it had also left some unanswered questions he was fairly curious about and there was only one person he knew would have the answers he needed... Well, maybe two people...

* * *

"So... Gale and Madge Undersee... How long has _that_ been going on?"

Flax and Rye both snapped their heads up from their respective tasks within the kitchen of their parents' bakery to send matching flustered looks at their baby brother, who'd just walked in the back door.

The Mellark middle child was the first to recover from the shock of both the unexpected query and the obvious state of agitation his youngest brother was in. "Considering how pissed you look, I'm going to guess that's a baited question. Do you even know that something's going on between Hawthorne and the mayor's daughter or are you just assuming?"

The glare the youngest of the baker's sons sent his older brother could have cut glass. "First of all, you're doing that wrong and second, I just saw them kissing in front of her house. How long?"

Rye looked down with affront at the cookies he was icing briefly before sneering back at his younger sibling. "Bite me, Peeta! I'm _not_ doing it wrong! They don't have to be works of art to be edible! We're not all obsessive about making every leaf on every flower look like it just fell off a plant into the stupid cookie!"

Realizing nothing good could possibly come of both his little brothers squabbling when their tempers were this elevated, the eldest Mellark teen decided to intervene. "They kept each other company a lot during your Games, Peeta. Madge isn't the type to socialize with many people and neither is Gale. So, whenever Hawthorne wasn't at the Everdeens', he was in the square and he and Madge would find their way to each other. They'd been Katniss' only friends. They were her own personal support team of sorts out there. You had Ace and Joe and Delly and Solei and a half dozen other Merchant kids cheering you on most of the time… Katniss only really had them. That kind of camaraderie brings people together, I guess…."

Peeta's indignation now found a new target in his eldest brother, even if he knew it was completely misdirected. "You knew about this and you knew Katniss had feelings for both of us and yet you never bothered giving me a heads-up? If Katniss knew about this, she'd probably get angry enough at Gale to-"

"Hey, kettle! You're black!"

"Rye! Seriously! Shut up!" Flax turned furious, warning, glacial eyes on his second youngest brother before quickly returning his attention to the youngest, who looked about ready to pounce on the aforementioned. "Katniss would get angry enough to do what, Peeta? Choose you? Is that even how you want this to play out? You want to be chosen in a bout of jealousy? And regardless of how tactlessly the moron worded it", Flax pointedly ignored Rye's insulted huff at being referred to in that manner, "He's right, little brother. You did the exact same thing as Gale is doing with Madge. And why? Because you're _normal_! And that little girl gives you absolutely nothing while other girls are more than willing to accommodate! Therefore, if Hawthorne loses Katniss over this thing with the Undersee girl, you don't deserve a claim to her either. You'll just end up in the same place when she finds out about Solei."

With a defeated slump to his shoulders, the sixteen-year-old plopped down on one of the stools, propping both elbows on the prep table, he brought both hands up to rub his face in frustration.

He didn't stop the cathartic rubbing even when he felt Rye's hand oh his shoulder. "Not to mention, Peeta, if you were to be the one to tell Katniss about Gale and Madge, you'd pretty much paint yourself a sniveling snake and you know it. That's not going to score you any points with someone like her. It'll likely send her running. You can never tell her about this, Peeta. If she finds out on her own… fine, but it can't ever be you that tells her."

Of course, the baker's youngest knew all this before coming in here. He knew the moment he realized Katniss had both he and Gale unwittingly wrapped around her little finger. The real reason he'd come in here was to hear what his conscience was telling him reiterated by the two people who probably understood and knew him best.

Well… that and he really needed someone to yell at. His brothers were always accommodating for a good shouting match. Getting it out was really stress-relieving, after all.

Once he was fairly certain his face was red from rubbing, he lowered his hands to the table, turning a tired, inquisitive smirk and raised eyebrow at his older brothers. "It's been three months and if today has shown us anything, it's that I'm all out of good ideas when it comes to winning Katniss over. So, how exactly do you guys see me accomplishing this?"

Rye's answer was immediate and accompanied by a wry grin. "Why, you do it by being Peeta, of course!"

Flax's contribution followed swiftly with a confident shrug of his shoulders and a smile.

"Peeta Mellark's the better man."


	4. How to Save a Life

He sat alone in the snow.

It was early dawn the day after the festival that preceded their arrival back in their home district at the end of his and Katniss' Victory Tour. He sat on his porch steps as a light snow fell.

He hadn't slept a wink in the last thirty-eight hours an it looked doubtful that sleep would find him in the consequent twenty-four hours that awaited.

He'd known readjusting to sleeping in his big comfortable bed without the soft, warm body of the raven-haired sixteen-year-old he so desperate cared for would be difficult. However, qualifying his body and mind's withdrawals from the comfort her presence had afforded him those weeks on the tour as 'difficult', seemed tantamount to comparing an anthill to one of the mountains they'd seen on the train approaching the Capitol.

It was likely due to exhaustion, but he literally _physically ached_ for her.

She was with her family now, of course… probably snuggled warmly in with Prim and her cat.

His face subconsciously twisted into a frown at that thought.

No. Katniss wouldn't be cuddled up with her beloved baby sister in that house three doors down.

He'd never set foot in her personal quarters since her occupation of it, but he was willing to wager she'd claimed that room with the adjoining bathroom just at the top of the stairs and over the den. It was the furthest from all the other bedrooms in their identically laid-out homes. Thus, positioning it far enough from the rest of her family to keep them blissfully unaware of her thrashing, whimpering and crying out, courtesy of the horrors that mercilessly plagued her sleeping hours.

There was no way she was exposing her little sister, for whom she'd sacrifice anything, to what the Games reduced her to in the dark of night.

He'd been unwittingly privy to that torment on the train during the tour and made the egregious error of instantly, thoughtlessly, relenting her the comfort of his company, soothing words and gentle caresses to ward off the atrocities long enough for rest to claim her.

In doing so, he'd condemned himself to the perdition he suffered through now.

True, sleep hadn't been easy to come by those five months he'd voluntarily excommunicated himself from her presence in an effort to assuage his anger and betrayal at her rejection after their Games. However, once he procured his easels, canvasses and painting accoutrements from the Capitol- thanks to their insistence that he have a 'talent'- he was capable of achieving a few hours of shut-eye a night after those early terrors went down on some form of medium.

He couldn't help the bitter scoff that escaped his lips as he brought his elbows up to rest on his bent knees, laying his face in his open palms tiredly. The audacity that his 'talent' had been keeping him sane was almost as laughable as the notion he'd be required to come up with a 'talent' at all had been when the Capitol had first informed him of it. It was the very definition of irony, he mused.

Technically, he had a few fully developed talents before entering the arena. He wrestled, he baked, he cooked… and- depending on which girl one asked in town- there were one or two more he decidedly _did not_ want publicized to the entire country.

However, for some reason, everything he'd enjoyed doing before his time in the Games felt too personal for the public exploitation the Capitol had in mind. Therefore, he decided to more thoroughly indulge something he'd only been able to dabble in sparingly from time to time since he could remember… drawing.

He both rued and beatified the day he'd brought the idea up to them. They were, of course, thrilled he'd chosen such a wonderfully expressionistic talent to showcase. He'd just been grateful to find an outlet for the terrifying imagery that ran rampant through his subconscious during his non-waking hours. To his mortification, the end result had been the most vivid and graphic depictions of every trauma he'd lived through, headlined in the Capitol for all to ogle.

Even that, however, paled in comparison to what he felt presently.

And the real humor in it all was that he was entirely to blame.

He didn't have to rush into Katniss' compartment when he'd been walking past during his nightly sleepless escapades through the train. He didn't need to untangle her from her sheets, holding her arms down as she struggled against him, lost in that limbo between dream and waking. He didn't have to hold her as she wept into his chest until she was too exhausted to keep her eyelids from closing. He didn't have to acquiesce to her plea that he stay to fend off the next batch of nightmares. And he certainly _was not_ forced to return the following night and all those that followed on that tour.

Had he kept his distance, he'd still be blissfully ignorant of how soft her skin was- as she slept in simple shorts and a tank top- how thick and silky her hair, when she let it loose of the braid to slumber. He would never have known how right she felt sleeping on a bed in his arms or how well her body contoured to his when he'd woken in the mornings flush against her, one arm wrapped securely around her trim waist.

But he'd allowed himself the indulgence in all these things and it had been wonderful.

Nevertheless, ignorance was bliss and he was no longer ignorant of his need to be close to the Girl on Fire. And with the knowledge of these things came the complete opposite of bliss… came what he suffered presently.

He was in misery.

"So, you popped the question out of the blue and after not speaking to her for months… And, now don't you look positively ecstatic about it?"

Oh, yes... _And_ there was _that_ …

Peeta raised his face from the hands that had been rubbing it roughly in consternation throughout his dark musings to lock eyes with the oceanic blues of his eldest brother. Rye stood off to his left with his hands tucked in the pockets of his thick corduroy trousers.

Both his brothers sported the thick winter coats and pants he'd had the tailor take their measurements for in order to send to Portia, who'd designed the special thermal outdoor wear for their comfort.

One of the first things he'd done upon returning home was buy his entire family- Chrys included- all the clothes and footwear they desired or needed. Their outerwear, however, Portia had insisted on designing herself, so he'd made sure everyone had their measurements taken to have custom-made winter gear ordered.

"How could he be anything but thrilled, Flax? The girl of his dreams just agreed to become his ball and chain before the entire country! Small miracle he's not jumping for joy! Then again, he _is_ technically an amputee…"

The youngest Mellark's azure gaze narrowed venomously as it shifted between his two elder brothers. He was in no mood for the poorly-veiled sarcasm. "Shouldn't you two be helping Dad get the orders ready before opening?"

Ignoring the spiteful edge to his baby brother's inquiry, the towheaded nineteen-year-old answered casually. "Dad can handle it on his own for one day. He used to do it alone when we were little, after all. Besides, everyone gorged themselves at the festival last night, courtesy of the Capitol. There shouldn't be much rush this morning. We", he swung a hand sideways in gesture at his second youngest brother, "Are far more interested in hearing about our newly affianced baby brother. You were very scarce last night during the festivities, thanks to the Capitol camera hounds. So, we figured we'd pay you a little visit and dish this morning. You can imagine how eager as **_your family_ ** we must be for details about your upcoming nuptials."

Peeta cringed at the increasingly threatening inflection Flax's voice achieved as he spoke. His brother's tenor took on a terrifying quality the higher his temper escalated. The phenomenon would have fascinated an onlooker, but it'd always managed to thoroughly unhinge the young man's two younger brothers.

Letting out an exasperated breath, the baker's youngest rose to his feet, turning down the path into town as he regarded his siblings, "Let's take a walk, then."

"Seriously? It's freezing out here! It's snowing! You really want to take a stroll?"

At the dangerous sneer he received from both his brothers, Rye threw up both hands in defeat with a petulant groan, falling into step beside the youngest.

Once they were about twenty yards from the Victor's Village, Peeta stopped and huffed out, staring at the snow at his feet, "President Snow came here." He ignored the expected surprised intakes of breath from both the teens accompanying him, continuing, "He came here the day Katniss and I left for the Tour. He told her what she pulled with the berries- what _we_ pulled- had led to unrest in the districts and it was her responsibility to convince everyone that she did it out of her undying love and devotion to me and not as an act of defiance to the Capitol."

He now raised his eyes to lock pointedly with those of his brothers. "He threatened to kill Gale Hawthorne if we weren't successful in appeasing the districts… he threatened her family and his."

"Why would Snow threaten Gale? I mean, yeah, everyone thinks they're cousins and all but…"

Peeta couldn't hide the jealousy that gleamed in his eyes as he answered his second oldest brother's inquiry. "Because they kissed once when they were out in the woods hunting and Snow somehow knows about it. He knows Gale isn't Katniss' cousin and he knows he's more than just her friend. That makes him leverage to use against her."

Flax regarded his brother analytically before posing the obvious. "If _you_ know about that, why did you still put on that entire charade during the Tour? I mean, you guys were all over each other every chance you got! It was so sweet; I think I have a cavity. Rye and I could tell it was completely fake, of course. Your ' _fiancée_ ' couldn't act her way out of a paper bag. But you were actually giving it your all for weeks. Then, you proposed? What was your endgame there, Peeta?"

Running a hand through his ash locks in frustration, the sixteen-year-old ground out dejectedly, "Saving lives, Flax. The moment we reached District Eleven, we realized just how ready to rebel these people are. Haymitch and Katniss had kept me in the dark about Snow's threat to that point. I didn't even know about Gale, though I've always had suspicions. So I naively gave that speech offering Rue and Thresh's family part of our winnings-"

"Yeah, we saw that! It was awesome!"

Peeta's eyes narrowed in indignation at the Mellark middle child, forgetting entirely his brother had no reason to know why those words should anger him. "No, Rye, it wasn't awesome! Almost immediately following that stupid speech a man's head was blown off right before our eyes for showing support to Katniss! Two more people died, but we have no idea who! For all I know, Thresh and Rue's entire family are dead because of that stupid speech! So, no! It was decidedly not _awesome_!"

Peeta shuddered in rage as Rye instantly wrapped his arms around his shoulders tightly. They stood like that for a few moments until Peeta calmed enough to continue, pulling away from his brother's embrace so he could look both his siblings in the eye. "After that, Haymitch and Katniss told me everything. I needed to know everything to be convincing enough- to make everyone believe Katniss loved me. I had to do it for her, because I'd accepted that, even if we couldn't be together how I'd dreamt of forever, I still wanted her in my life and I definitely didn't want harm to come to her or her family. And I did it for you guys, for Mom and Dad… I realized my family was just as mortal as hers and Snow could use you against me just as easily as he was using her family against her."

He allowed the reality of the very real mortal danger he'd just disclosed they were in to settle for a moment. Then, he looked back down at the snow at his feet to finish in a low voice, "The proposal was her idea. We were desperate. Nothing we were doing seemed to be dissuading the districts from uprising. So, when we reached the Capitol, I asked her to marry me as we'd rehearsed and she said yes, just like she was supposed to… and now we're destined to be married. Snow is almost certainly forcing us to conceive children because legacy Tributes are so popular and nothing would be more popular than the child of the famed Star-Crossed Lovers in the arena. So, I have to essentially rape the woman I love to produce offspring that will inevitably be slaughtered and she has no choice but be a willing participant if we hope to keep everyone we love alive. _This_ is what my engagement is. _This_ is what my future is."

The silence that followed was pregnant with everything that could only be felt, but never expressed. Remorse, commiseration, anguish, mortification, rage, outrage, helplessness, dejection… all of these danced across the mien of the baker's sons as they stood silently in the gently falling snow, processing everything that had been spoken.

"I don't think it'd be rape."

When two very tired, questioning pair of blue eyes turned to him, Rye elaborated, "If you had to have kids with Katniss, I mean. I don't think she'd consider it rape. She likes you and you're selling yourself short on your skills if you think you couldn't make her happy in that aspect…"

Peeta couldn't help let out a bitterly bemused, grateful scoff at his brother's earnest attempt at seeing a silver lining in what was essentially a hurricane. He brought a hand up to squeeze the seventeen-year-old's shoulder fondly. "It has nothing to do with me or how I could make her feel, Rye. As long as Snow is forcing this abomination on us- which he is- it will never be mutually consensual. That makes it rape. If she doesn't have a say in whom it happens with and why- it's rape."

"Then, try to make her want it to be you. The situation would still be horrific, but at least that part of it would be bearable. You could make her feel loved and cherished. You can make her forget for brief moments your crappy lot in life. You've gotten girls to fall for you before, Peeta. There's got to be something that can make her fall for you completely and forget about Hawthorne. I've told you before, you outclassed him miles ago."

The sixteen-year-old narrowed his eyes skeptically at his oldest sibling before replying, "You also told me to give her time to make her own choice. She hasn't chosen me. The only time we've been especially close were those nights we spent sleeping together on the train…"

This got both the older Mellark teens' attention immediately.

"Whoa! If you've slept with her already-"

In a subitaneous motion, Peeta brought a halting hand up, gracing his second oldest brother with a warning glare as chilling as the air around them. "It wasn't like that, Rye! Katniss is not like that. We slept in the same bed and I held her because it helped us both with the nightmares. Nothing else happened."

Flax scratched his forehead with a knowing grin. "Still, you have to consider, Peeta. This girl has let you into her bed and allowed you to hold her as she slept. That's far more intimate than those fake kisses you guys were putting on for the cameras. And, if you're entirely honest with yourself, that's way too intimate for mere friends. Even if she's confused about what she feels about you, it definitely moved beyond friendship on that train."

"Her handicap in developing the basic skill of deciphering what she feels not withstanding; she's falling for you deeper and deeper. Your only real obstacle now is Hawthorne. You can't come between her and her best friend. It'll reek of petty jealousy. You have to allow her to realize the difference between what she feels for you and what she feels for him on her own. Considering her lack of experience in this, it'll probably be a while before she has that figured out."

Peeta considered this. Everything his oldest brother had spoken made perfect sense. It was obvious his raven-haired neighbor felt more for him than she could process. She was blunt. If she had no feelings for him at all, she was hardly the type to try to spare his feelings by stringing him along. She needed him. Her fledgling, newly discovered womanly emotions were simply too underdeveloped to process why.

He could help her with her evolution in that area. He'd just need to be patient. They had time. He could afford patience. They would be mentoring together every year. Surely, she'd want him to comfort her on the train ride to those Games.

Yes. He could do this.

He could win her heart yet.

* * *

He kneaded the dough in his hands with a violence precious few unfortunate individuals had ever known him to possess before slamming his fist into the foodstuff with such force; his entire countertop creaked in complaint. He struggled to keep his fury visceral, unfocused, continuing the abuse to the ruined mixture of flour, water and oil. He refused to allow his mind to conjure a tangible manifestation of the true target of what he was unleashing here. He had a fairly good idea whose face would unwittingly surface if he allowed his consciousness free rein to bore into those darkest recesses of his psyche.

He'd never _do_ that! He'd never allow himself to even _consider_ that in passing!

He just needed to vent all the frustration, anger, hurt, rejection… everything he'd stupidly allowed himself to feel this morning when he found _them_ together at her mother's kitchen table.

He was an idealistic idiot to think he stood a chance against _that_!

He'd stared at them for far longer than what was likely healthy or socially acceptable before shaking her awake.

He'd noted with an agonizing wring of something deep within his chest how their fingers interlaced together on the white tablecloth. His artist's proclivity toward detail and hue couldn't help but register how similar their skin tone was, how their bound hands appeared far better synchronized as compared to how her hand had looked in his own.

Everything about them made them a matched set. They had similar personalities, similar temperament, similar backgrounds, shared similar tragedies growing up. They were even the same bloody ethnicity, when it really came down to the core of it!

He wasn't ignorant or blind! Everything about him and Katniss clashed. They were near polar opposites.

Starting with their skin. He'd been born pale and he was blonde- all of him. Girls of his past had commented on how little body hair he seemed to posses for his age, but that was actually quite deceiving. His body hair was just really, really blonde!

He'd realized just how different his skin tone was when compared to hers that first time they'd held hands during their Tribute Parade. He'd been fascinated and enthralled by that disparity. He'd found it so exotic and beautiful how their different coloring complimented one another. Now, it seamed one more anomaly to add to the list of reasons the mere thought of them together was so ludicrous.

Add to that list, the fact that she was quick tempered, when he was generally sangfroid. She never thought anything through and leapt before looking. He was calculating and analytical- quick to think and slow to act. She was taciturn. He was magic at turning a phrase. She was introverted. He was outgoing and naturally friendly. She was paranoid of everything and everyone. He was a pragmatist and studied people before jumping to conclusions. He was often calm. She could rarely sit still.

They weren't anything alike! The only thing they shared in common was the horror of surviving the Games together and even _that_ was impossibly further tainted by Snow's filthy manipulation. The only thing he could honestly say she was to him was a friend and that was all due to his own efforts. She'd never offered any of herself to him that wasn't part of the scheme to assuage the Capitol or some selfish need for comfort.

She didn't deserve him!

She deserved her hunter. The one whose fallback girl was kind enough to bring otherwise completely inaccessible Capitol-strength painkillers in the middle of a blizzard to make sure he didn't suffer too severely after having his back ripped to shreds. Katniss really was a blind idiot if she didn't see something _fundamentally wrong_ with _that_!

Whatever! He hoped they lived a freaking happy life together!

He gave a couple more solid, satisfying poundings to the dough, each finding its mark with a corresponding disgruntled snarl, before realizing his phone was ringing.

It registered abruptly it'd rung a few times before his fulminating mind had registered the sound.

Quickly rinsing his hands in the sink and picking up a hand towel, he made his way to his study where the phone was housed. He had no inkling who could be calling. He only ever received calls from Portia or Effie and he wasn't expecting a call from either of them so soon after the end of the tour.

The moment he answered, he wished he'd just let it ring off the hook, the phrase ' _Speak of the she-devil herself_ ', flitting briefly through his musings at the sound of her voice.

He couldn't believe she actually believed him so much an incompetent invalid as to get lost in the distance it took to travel from her house to his. That was it! He couldn't have helped the sarcastic, enraged quality his voice took on even if he'd bothered to control it. "Katniss, I live three houses away from you."

Then, he heard the worst thing someone as incensed, jilted and jaded as he felt at the moment could possibly want to hear in the inflection of the person responsible for these miseries, as she reasoned as way of response, "I know, but with the weather and all…"

Clear as a drop of rain, there was that earnest, sincere fear that he may not have made it home safe- that he may be physically hurt somehow.

God! He really didn't need to hear that from her right now! He wanted to stay pissed! She deserved for him to be angry at her! He didn't want to remember he felt something else for her that was far stronger than indignation!

But, of course, it was of no use. He could already feel his treacherous heart softening- his anger mitigating at the simple knowledge that she cared enough to worry about his well-being.

He loved her… he loved her unconditionally.

He was such a moronic sucker!

"Well, I'm fine. Thank you for checking."

He cringed. If he sounded this pathetic and juvenile to himself, how mature did that come off to her? It was at this impasse that his mouth chose to declare it's autonomy of his dominion, deciding to divulge his true nature in preference of the petulant nitwit he was behaving as. Before he could stop himself, he found himself adding, "How's Gale?"

Yes! That's exactly what he wanted to know right now! How was the man that had managed to put an end to a nearly dozen-year-long dream?

However, he couldn't deny his concern for the Seam hunter, even to himself. The eighteen-year-old had been in rough shape when he'd left the Everdeen house and he wasn't trifling enough to be a sore loser. Gale had never truly been a rival to him, after all. If anything, they were fellow victims of the same ailment. It wasn't fair of the baker's son to disparage him for finding the cure while he remained agonizing.

Therefore, he just continued enjoying the strangely cathartic sound of Katniss' voice as she answered that her mother was treating her friend's devastated back with something called snow coat- he had now idea what that could be- and told him she had some for her swollen cheek when he'd inquired after her own injury. She asked if he'd seen their mentor, which he had.

He'd been by his house in the hopes of unloading some of his pent-up rage after leaving hers, but only found him passed-out drunk on his floor. He'd left him a loaf of bread so he'd have something to eat when he regained consciousness and built up his fire so he wouldn't freeze to death in his sleep. He told Katniss as much, omitting the reason for the house call, of course. They were definitely not close enough for her to need to know when he was too mad to be around her.

An involuntary shudder of excitement trickled up his spine at her statement of wanting to 'talk' to him. He knew 'talking' meant she wanted to _see_ him again, wanted him around. They all knew their phones and homes were bugged, so they spoke in code when in the Victor's Village and the fact that she wanted Haymitch present likely meant she had something up her sleeve about the whole Snow situation.

He didn't care. A few minutes ago, he'd all but given up hope that she wanted anything to do with him anymore. Now, it was obvious she was reaching out to him.

Yes. It was likely in friendship, but he'd already resigned himself to accept a begrudging friendship with this steel-eyed temptress if that's all she was willing to afford him. He found himself instantly pulling on the curtain to the window in his den to check the weather beyond. The wind was gusting with such force, the snow appeared to be moving horizontally instead of vertically. Was he actually reckless enough to venture _that_ in order to see her?

Likely. He had been sincere when he'd agreed to run off with her into the wilderness twenty-four hours prior, after all. However, they couldn't speak freely in their homes and leaving the haven of shelter in _that_ was suicide.

"Probably have to wait until after the weather calms down," He couldn't help the obvious disappointment that tinged his baritone. "Nothing much will happen before that, anyway."

"No, nothing much..." Okay. That same disgruntlement had clearly been evident in the Seam teenager's voice! She wanted this meeting as bad as he did.

His inner id silently screamed in hope that meant he still stood a chance with her.

* * *

He made his way up the stairs to his family's living quarters, his surprise gripped tightly in both hands.

The idea for the recipe had come to him a few days prior when he'd come home from working on the plant book with a still-bedridden Katniss to find his sister-in-law in his kitchen eating raw, unsweetened chocolate and granulated salt- her excuse being they'd run out of chocolate at the bakery and she absolutely had to have some. Her survival had apparently hinged on her attaining this substance that day.

Now, Peeta's experience when dealing with hormonal, pregnancy-related cravings was pretty much non-existent, but the deranged way the silver-eyed young woman's gaze had challenged him to deny her what she desiderated, made it perfectly clear he was to clear out of her way until she was satiated.

The baker's youngest smiled at the memory as he opened the door to the Mellark living room at the top of the stairs.

It wasn't as if Chrys was hungry. Although, that was certainly a popular affliction as of late in Twelve. His Victor's wealth had kept his family fed and supplied throughout the entire insufferable winter, even when some other Merchant families had felt the brunt of Thread's abuse. He'd helped out the Cartwrights, Joe and Ace, Mani, Lacy, Solei...

For the first time since leaving so much of himself- both physically and psychologically- in that arena, he'd actually been grateful to be a Victor.

The hardships in the mines affected the economy of the entire district and although the Seam suffered the worst of it- people were literally dropping dead of starvation there- the Merchant class was registering a depression they'd never dealt with before in their lives. The Merchant class of Twelve knew hunger for the first time since the Dark Days.

The instant he closed the door, he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching from everywhere in his childhood home to meet him.

He'd spent better part of that day in the bakery, manning the counter for old times sake. Katniss' photo shoot the previous day had to be taxing. You know, with her not wanting to marry him whatsoever and all- he suppressed a groan at the sting to his ego at being reminded of that. He was sure she wouldn't want any company after going through all that, so he'd made himself scarce.

While he was servicing the front, some younger schoolchildren came in to buy some bread for their family. They'd been awestruck to be tended to by one half of the supposed Star-Crossed Lovers and eagerly twittered that there was a Capitol compulsory television broadcast tonight and the buzz was it would feature Katniss in her wedding dresses.

The sixteen-year-old couldn't imagine how the Capitol could possibly pull that off if the shoot was less than twenty-four hours prior, but his interest was peaked, nonetheless. For this reason, he'd decided to make his special experimental concoction while his oldest sibling closed up the shop and decided to watch the broadcast at his parents' place instead of heading home. He figured it could be like old times when he, Rye and Flax would sit around the television set to comment on the ridiculous Capitol fashion whenever they were forced to watch these things as kids.

"The rumors are true! I _do_ still have a baby brother residing somewhere in District Twelve! I've wanted to believe! I really did!"

Peeta turned to send a mock-scathing glare at his second oldest brother's hyperbolisms, but the expression warped into disgust when he noticed the seventeen-year-old was clad in only a towel to protect his modesty. "Rye, are you leading some kind of personal crusade against wearing clothing, man? And, I've only been keeping Katniss company for a couple of weeks while she's off her feet. You're such a drama queen!"

"Ha!" Both Mellark teens turned at the sharp female snort to find Chrys pointing at Rye's chest with mirthful eyes as she made her way to sit in an armchair. "Your nipples look like they could cut through glass! It's like sixty degrees in this house. Why are you naked?"

The Mellark middle child looked positively scandalized as he brought his ridiculously muscled arms to wrap high across his chest in order to hide whatever his sister-in-law was referring to. He sounded all of three as he retorted abashedly, "If you must know, I was finishing a shower when I heard my baby brother- whom I've barely seen in half a month, by the way, limping his way up the stairs. I rushed to get out here in case he wasn't staying long."

"Hey! I don't limp! I worked really hard so that I wouldn't-"

"Oh, for mercy's sake, Rye! We've had this argument since you were three, son! You can't go around like this! Normal people wear clothes!"

All eyes turned to a very haggard-looking baker who was making his way to his favorite chair in the room, his liquid blue eyes trained on his middle child in open disapproval.

Before Rye could respond, however, the front door opened and in walked his eldest brother who didn't even spare a breath before delivering his impassioned arraignment, "Seriously, Rye? In front of my wife? We all know you have no filters or respect for your own personal boundaries, but how about you pretend to have some chastity in front of a lady?"

That did it.

Chrys started guffawing uncontrollably, Peeta following suit within a split second. Everyone else looked at them as if they'd sprouted a second head. It was something of an inside joke and they'd likely never really get it on the level those two did. Flax would probably figure it out in a few more months. Seam women weren't _ladies_. They were _women_. They'd all known suffering at their door since childhood. They were adults before they finished being children and most had seen a man in less than what Rye was wearing before they were eight- usually dead of starvation on the street.

What Flax had stated was ridiculous!

Of course, not knowing any of this and believing his baby brother and sister-in-law were making fun of him, the baker's second-born narrowed his sky blues menacingly at all the other occupants of the living room, stating venomously, "You know what? You're not worth the waste of breath to explain myself again!" He now pointed an index finger at his still-snickering youngest sibling, "Are you going to be here a while or not?" When the sixteen-year-old nodded his assent, he continued heatedly, "You better be! 'Cause I'm going to go put some clothes on. If I get back out here and I don't see you? I'm heading over to the Victor's Village and dragging your scrawny butt back here willingly or otherwise and we both know I relish the ' _otherwise_ '!"

With that, he stormed out of the living room, down the hall to his room, passing his mother on the way. The baker's wife eyed her middle child curiously before turning to regard her husband flatly, "Let's hope we can keep that odd fetish he's got with public nudity hidden from the textiles store-owner's daughter until after the Toasting. It's _her_ problem after that."

She pretended every single occupant of the living room wasn't staring at her in open outrage as she sat at one of the armchairs in the living room.

Chrys wrenched her silver eyes away from sneering at her mother-in-law with no undue difficulty and settled them back on Peeta, garnishing his attention with her inquiry, "So, what's in the tray?"

Infinitely grateful for the distraction from the horror that was the woman who'd engendered him, the sixteen-year-old made his way to his sister-in-law and- much to her surprise- placed the tray on her lap. With an easy smile and a gentle rub to the bump on her abdomen that was far too noticeable for her stage of pregnancy due to how thin she was, he stated jovially, "This is a gift for my niece or nephew. I hope you like it. They're pretty much salted chocolate brownies. I used the coarsest salt I could get my hands on so it wouldn't dissolve in the batter..."

The size the Seam seamstress' eyes attained as she pulled the foil off the tray and gazed at her prize, which seemed to dazzle due to the light bouncing off the salt crystals was almost comical. Within an instant, she'd taken a bite of one of the treats, closing her eyes and releasing a sound of pure euphoria.

"Chrys, now remember Mrs. Everdeen warned you all that salt wasn't good for your swelling ankles-" Flax made a grab for the tray on his wife's lap.

The Seam teenager's eyes snapped open to lock with those of her husband, her voice lowering to a decibel so minatory, everyone in the room turned to face her. "I love your fingers, sweetheart. If they come anywhere near this tray, I'll bite them off."

The baker's eldest son instantly snapped his hand back, cradling it against his chest protectively as if his wife would actually come after it. It was really quite a sight. This nineteen-year-old had, at minimum, one hundred twenty pounds on the girl who was now smiling sweetly up at him as she took another bite of a brownie. Yet, he still looked positively cowed by her.

Peeta found himself able to relate. Seam girls could be terrifying! He was fairly certain he could bench-press Katniss after easily heaving her up and and down the stairs of her house every day the last couple of weeks whenever she wanted to watch television. However, just one of those scathing looks from her, reduced him to a sniveling tree-year-old about to be spanked for being naughty.

Was he whipped?

How could that even be possible? The girl wasn't even technically his girlfriend!

Flax at least had an excuse for being subjugated by Chrys. He loved her. She was his wife. He wanted to make her happy.

Then again, was that really so different from his situation with Katniss? He absolutely loved her. They _were_ technically engaged. He wanted more than anything to see her happy. His ability to make her happy brought him joy and built up his ego. Was going out of your way to make the person you loved happy in the selfish hope of finding self-fulfillment from that contentment the definition of being whipped?

If it was... heck, yeah, he was whipped! And very proudly so, at that!

He settled into the sofa in front of the television next to his eldest brother, who sent conspicuously wary glances at his wife every so often. She still smiled cheerfully at him, blissfully continuing to eat her treat. He couldn't help grinning conspiratorially at her. It took a special girl indeed to tame Flax Mellark.

Rye came into the room- thankfully, clad in comfortable slacks and a long-sleeved shirt- and flipped on the television. He settled himself beside his baby brother at the end of the couch, throwing an arm around his shoulders amicably. "I'm so glad I don't have to chase your dumb butt down. I hate working up a sweat after a shower. What is our fine Capitol treating us to this evening anyway?"

Peeta didn't bother trying to shrug his brother off. An insulting compliment was about as congenial as Rye got when there was an audience around, anyway. And having him admit bringing his baby brother down was any kind of challenge, definitely counted as complimentary.

The Mellark middle child's query was answered by the appearance of Caesar Flickerman on their screen, speaking before a humongous crowd in front of what the baker's youngest immediately recognized to be the Training Center.

He begun by going on about his and Katniss' upcoming wedding before introducing Cinna- Katniss' designer during their Games- after a minute or so of inane dribble- obviously intended purely for the Capitol's enjoyment- the host directed everyone's attention to a giant screen.

Now the Mellark youngest could see how they could pull this together in twenty-four hours. It hadn't been a day at all. The Capitol had turned his farce of an engagement into a frenzied circus. As he watched the narration on the screen, he learned that Cinna initially designed twenty-four wedding gowns. Since then, according to popular Capitolite vote, there'd been the process of narrowing down the designs, creating the dresses, and choosing the accessories.

The highlight of the show were shots of the Seam huntress in the final six dresses.

As they continued to watch, each shot of the beautifully made-up sixteen-year-old was met with the audience's screaming and cheering for their favorites and the jeering of the ones they disliked.

This made perfect sense to Peeta, since they voted and likely placed bets on the winner- as they did on their lives during their Games- the Capitol's people were very invested on the final design of his fiancée's wedding gown.

What didn't make much sense and rather unnerved the baker's youngest son was the fact that his two older brothers felt the need to toss their two cents into which dress it should be. They certainly had absolutely no dog in this fight.

"Ugh! That first dress with all the ruffles actually makes her look fat! How do you make a girl who weighs a hundred pounds dripping wet look fat?"

Before Peeta could get his cutting retort to his second oldest brother out, he was cut off by Flax's amused snort, "Are they actually tattooing her arms gold for that hideous thing? And the cut makes her look like she's further along than Chrys! Is there something you want to tell us about there, Peeta?"

He was too appalled and embarrassed at the insinuation to even, think of a cogent response to _that_!

"Whoa-ho-ho! Look at the skintight silk with the diamonds! Either that dress is pushing up her ribs into her throat or this Cinna guy used a yard of padding just for the top half. 'Cause there's no way Katniss has that kinda rack!"

"Okay, that's it! No one else says anything about the dress the girl I'm in love with is being forced to marry me in!" Peeta was on his feet, fists coiled tightly at his sides as he shot azure daggers with his eyes at his older brothers. He narrowed them dangerously at Rye to add, "And if I _ever_ hear you comment on Katniss' chest again, you better hope Flax is around to wrench me off you!"

Flax was up with a hand on his baby brother's shoulder immediately. "Calm down, Peeta. We were just poking fun. But you're right. It was insensitive and immature and- in Rye's case- creepy and socially taboo. But he's a moron, so…"

"Hey!"

Peeta rolled his eyes, but didn't stop the smile from making its way unto his face as he shifted to turn off the television. Right as he was reaching for the dial, he paused as Caesar was telling the audience to stay tuned for the other big event of the evening, voicing ominously, "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

Oh, yeah. He was a mentor now. He could only imagine how horrible mentoring for a Quell would be. He really didn't need any more nightmares added to his repertoire. Then, an odd realization struck him and he turned to regard his entire congregated family. "That's still months off. What could they be announcing tonight?"

The baker and his wife shared a brief look and Peeta saw something he'd never seen before, something he didn't even recognize, flit through the pale blue in his mother's eyes before she responded simply, "The reading of the card."

The sixteen-year-old's brows knitted together in confusion. What his mother replied meant nothing to him. What card? He decided to resume his place next to his brothers and have his questions answered by whatever the Capitol had to say.

Watching the screen, the anthem began playing as President Snow took the stage, followed by a young boy dressed in white, holding a simple wooden box. Once the anthem ended, President Snow began a long-winded speech, reminding the nation of the Dark Days from which the Hunger Games were born.

He went on to explain that when the laws for the Games were laid out, (the Games had laws?) they'd dictated that every twenty-five years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell, which would call for a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion.

Peeta cringed at hearing that. He was fairly certain after the unrest he'd witnessed during their Victory tour and what Katniss had told him about the refugees from eight she'd found in the woods, more than a couple districts were rebelling right at that moment.

The President went on to narrate what had transpired in Quarter Quells passed. He eloquently redacted the history of the twenty-fifth Quell when- as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election to vote on the tributes who would represent it.

"That had to be a nightmare for everyone in every district! Can you even imagine having to vote on who goes to the Games?"

Rye's inquiry was met with silence as everyone's attention was focused on the television.

President Snow continued his morose speech. "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

"That was the last time a Merchant was drawn until you, Peeta. But, _all_ our odds were doubled that year, so it wasn't too surprising. Her name was Maysilee Donner. She was twins with major Undersee's wife. She was a sweet girl."

Peeta turned to see his father was gracing him with a sad smile and a faraway look, likely remembering the nightmare that Reaping had been for all of them.

With a distinct tone of finality, the president continued, "And now we honor our third Quarter Quell."

Honor? Where was the 'honor' in any of this?

The little boy in white moved forward, holding out the box and opening the lid so everyone in Panem could see the tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes. The president removed an envelope clearly marked with a seventy-five, pulling out a small square of paper. Without hesitation, he read, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Silence permeated the Mellark living room as what had just been uttered by their country's leader sank in.

Peeta felt an odd numbness rush through his veins first. However, this was only preempt to the indignation. _That_ boiled through his system like lava, consuming everything else but the irrefutable conviction that he _would not_ let that bastard get away with this.

They'd expected retribution for their indiscretion against the Capitol, even death. But being sent back to that after having survived it once… going back in with other proven killers…

He had to make sure she made it out again there were no ifs, ands or buts about it.

"You're not going back, Peeta! She doesn't deserve you to go back! Let Haymitch go!" The statement should've been delivered as an impassioned barrage. However, the speaker's voice was so hoarse with emotion; it came out as a croaked sob.

Peeta turned to wrap his second oldest brother in his arms. The seventeen-year-old wasn't even bothering stemming the tears that fell freely from his liquid blue eyes unto his baby brother's shirt. He didn't want to lose him... not again, not like this.

The baker's youngest held back his own tears, rubbing circles into his brother's back and staring adamantly at the wall as he replied softly. "It has to be me, Rye. I'm the only one. I need to keep everyone else alive."

Flax ran an exasperated hand through his hair before wiping at both his eyes with the same. "Why, Peeta? Why does it have to be you? Why are you less valuable than either of them? Can you tell me that without using some stupid romanticized notion of love? Because, screw love! We need you _alive_!"

Peeta gave a final soothing pat to Rye's back, releasing him to get to his feet. He regarded his entire family with the ashen, bleak expression of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, his voice thick with the myriad of emotions dueling for dominance within. "You don't really need me alive to survive yourselves. I know that sounds awful, but it's true. You're my family and you love me, just as I love you. But your survival doesn't hinge on mine. You're Merchant. You'll make it through. You always have."

"Without Katniss, Mrs. Everdeen and Prim have to go back to their little shanty in the Seam and likely starve to death in squalor. After knowing the opulence of the Victor's Village, that's just downright vicious! Without Haymitch employing Mrs. Hawthorne as his housekeeper this winter those three children would've starved to death! I'm not capable of standing idly by while all these people die because Snow wants revenge on Katniss. That's not who I am! I'm going to train. I'm going in there with her and I'm making sure she comes out alive so she can keep the rest of her family alive, as well. If I can do this, then my death will have meaning- my life will have meaning. Because, yes Flax, I love her, I'm willing to die for her. I always was. Now, I just have to strike a bargain with Haymitch so he doesn't cheat me out of my chance at it."

As he'd said this last part, he'd made his way to the door, opening it quickly before losing his resolve at the soft sobs that were now coming from his sister-in-law. Just before he stepped out, he turned back to all of them. "Please, understand that I have to do this. This is the only thing that's right for me to do here."

To his surprise, he saw his mother rise from her chair and make her way to where he stood in the doorway. She scrutinized him for a moment before reaching up to place both hands on either side of his head. She pulled him down far enough to place a soft kiss on his forehead before looking him straight in the eye and stating bluntly, "You go do what you have to do, Peeta Mellark. You get that girl back here alive." Then, she walked away from the living room down the hall to her bedroom.

Peeta watched her go just as the rest of his family, with unabashed wonderment written all over his demeanor. Then, shaking his head to clear it of the awkward sensation, he briskly walked out the door and down the steps.

As he darted in the direction of Haymitch's home in the Victor's Village, he replayed what his mother had done before he walked out over and over in his mind.

After all, he wanted that perfectly committed to his photographic memory.

He positively _needed_ to remember his mother's first kiss.


	5. The Exorbitant Quantum of Deliverance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all who have loyally read this fic to this point, I extend thanks. Written work is nothing without eyes to appreciate it. And to all those who left Kudos, I do not yet know enough about this site to thank each of you personally, so I give you a hearty thanks for your kind response to this piece.  
> That being said, this is the last chapter before the epilogue. This was a nightmare to write. I'm sorry, everyone. I will not stray from the basic storyline of canon. I only fill in blanks.   
> We all knew where this was heading...

* * *

Oh, for God's sake! Peeta Mellark was shirtless in his backyard.

This _was not_ the sight the Seam huntress needed welcoming her from the ridiculous five-mile morning jog he'd sent her on!

She had the perfect tirade worked out and rehearsed in her head!

Lord knew, having nothing to do but curse the day your neighbor was born while willing your aching lower limbs not to collapse from under you due to sheer exhaustion, left an impressive amount of time for your mind to devise the most creative expletives to use against the sadist who'd made you do this in the first place.

However, as she approached the starting point of her arduous trot around the perimeter of her district, the Seam huntress found she was drawing a blank as to all those wonderful comminations she'd wanted to launch against the infuriating blonde. Instead becoming entranced by a bead of sweat tracing a path down the defined muscles of his back as they constricted and distended, a fascinating consequence of his using a low branch on an oak to do pull ups.

"Have yourself a nice run, sweetheart?"

She realized with a start she'd been openly gaping at the seventeen-year-old's back and quickly snapped her eyes to lock with those of a very smugly ginning Haymitch, whose position on the ground suggested he'd just been forced to do sit-ups by the aforementioned teenager, who'd taken it upon himself to mutually martyrize them. Instantly, she knew he'd caught her staring and sent him a sneer that clearly communicated ' _Breathe a word about what you saw and an arrow flies through your thigh!_ '.

The drunk's response was a noncommittal snort, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug that had her looking around for where she'd placed her bow and sheath before her run.

She found the search for her weapon of choice hindered by her neighbor dropping with surprising ease from the tree two feet before her. He turned to grace her with a positively amicable smile that came off as absolutely depraved to her, considering what he'd swindled her into doing two hours prior, just because she'd complained that sit-ups were a waste of time.

Somehow, he'd convinced her he agreed and inveigled her into a long-distance jog to build up her stamina instead. The run had been exponentially worse than doing a few abdominals and she had more than a sneaking suspicion the blonde was completely aware of this well before he'd suggested it as an alternative. He'd wanted to make it clear to her who was in charge of these little training sessions.

Well, her screaming calves were decidedly not arguing with him next time he brought up whatever exercise popped into his deranged imagination! So, lesson well learned!

"Katniss! You're back! That's great! I have something special planned for us today!"

As her brows furrowed into a distrusting scowl, hypothesizing internally whatever could be 'special' about what this psychopath had divined for her, she entirely lost track of where her gaze was drifting. That is, until _he_ shifted forwarded to almost whisper so that only she could hear. "My eyes are up here, Katniss."

For the second time in less than two minutes, she found herself wrenching her eyes away from a random spot on the baker's son's body to focus on the conversation at hand. Only this time, it was so much worse!

Had she been staring at his chest right in front of him?

She could feel the burn of an impossibly intense blush creeping up her neck. Her mortification must've been obvious because he had the mercy to turn his amused smirk away from her, sparing her the humiliation of staring him in the eye after _that_.

He actually walked away from her entirely, darting into his home with a quick "I'll be right back" in Haymitch's direction.

The moment he disappeared through the door, the cackling started. "You really have no idea what the word 'subtle' means, do you, sweetheart?"

She crossed her arms under her chest, sending her mentor a vicious glare and completely circumventing the query, "He was wearing a wife beater this morning. It's not as if I'm out here in a bra and jeans!"

Haymitch sent her a deeply unimpressed look. "No one's stopping you! It's scorching out here. You probably didn't notice 'cause I ain't as young and pretty as your 'fiancée', but I lost the shirt an hour ago, too. And, for the record, if you were to strip to your bare minimums, _he_ actually has the chivalry not to gawk at you the way _you_ were ogling _him_. You'd think you've never seen him like that before. Heck, if memory serves, you've seen him in less!"

The Seam teenager instantly reddened at the memory of what he was referring to. Her eyes found a rock at her feet that she decided to kick as she stated earnestly, "He was half starved, wounded and filthy. And even then, I barely looked. I was just trying to keep him from outright _dying_. I've never seen him in this state of undress while he's so…" She dug around for the right word in her mind.

"Healthy?" The elder victor supplied helpfully with an entirely inappropriate grin, falling back onto his propped up elbows.

She narrowed her steel eyes at him menacingly, sniffing out an irate, "I suppose, that works as well as any other word."

Then, the cackling renewed until they heard footsteps coming down the steps to Peeta's porch.

"What's so funny? I want in on the joke, too!"

Both unwitting trainees turned to find Peeta and Rye Mellark smiling kindly at them.

"Ah, nah! What's the little brute doing here? When did you even get here? How did I not see you arrive?"

The Mellark middle child's smile grew almost to the point of depravity as he looked down upon Twelve's oldest living Victor. "Bakers tend to be up very early, old man. I was here before dawn. I was just waiting for you guys to finish your little warm-up to start the real fun."

"What 'fun'?"

The baker's youngest son decided to answer the petrified-looking Seam huntress' question with an easy smile and shrug. "We all know I excelled in hand-to-hand combat during training for the Games. That's thanks to my previous experience with wrestling. Now, I've taught Rye here everything I learned during our first round of training and we've watched the fighting styles of the other reaped Victors, namely the ones from One, Two, Four and Seven, since they pose the greatest threat."

He now casually gestured at his former mentor with his head. "I'll be sparring with you, Haymitch, since I'm assuming you've been in enough bar brawls to be considered an advanced pupil." Turning to the Seam teenager, whose eyes had already widened in apprehension at what she knew he was about to say, he added, "You're with Rye, Katniss. He's really the best. He taught me everything I knew before getting reaped."

The steel-eyed girl shifted her gaze warily from one Mellark to the other, stating with finality, "I don't need to learn hand-to-hand combat. I can outrun anyone in the arena and I'm the best shot here."

That _was_ mostly true. Thanks to his handicap, she could certainly outrun her blonde neighbor and, although through practice Peeta had become keenly accurate with both a knife and spear, she still bettered him marginally. Haymitch wasn't even a contender.

Rye crossed his arms, approaching her slowly, as one would a feral beast. Once he was a foot in front of her, he scrutinized her briefly. Then, he let out a resigned breath, turning back to his younger sibling. "She seems adamant, little brother. I don't think she'll budge."

Straightening in triumph, Katniss shot over the older boy's shoulder at the younger teen, "Honestly, what's the point in learn-"

Before she could utter another syllable, the boy before her grabbed her arm and flipped her over his shoulder in a practiced move that took absolutely no effort on his part. She landed on the grass on the opposite side with such force; all the air escaped her lungs in an excruciating rush.

Still holding the arm he'd used to flip her, the Mellark middle child now stood over her with a superior grin. He used the kind of tone one would use on a slow-witted, two-year-old, "Why didn't you skewer me with an arrow or throw a knife before I did this, little girl?"

When no answer was forthcoming from the now-wheezing, oxygen-deprived teenager, he twisted the arm he held just enough to cause an involuntary, shocked whimper to escape her as her eyes locked in horrified disparagement with his. Entirely unfazed, the older teen kept his uncomfortable grip on her arm as he bent down, effectively stifling all her range of motion, lest she wrench the appendage from its juncture at her shoulder.

Matching her glare with impenitent, obdurate, sky blue ice, he all but whispered in a tone so callous and exacting that she felt the hairs on her skin rise on end at the sound, "My baby brother is worth more to me than ten of you, Katniss, and he's forfeited his life so that you can draw breath for the next lord-knows-how-many years. Two almost killed you last time even with an arrow in her arm because you're useless when someone gets the drop on you." His visage now warped into a bizarre combination of grief, rage and unbridled determination. She found it impossibly even _more_ intimidating than the previous nonchalance. "Baby brother wants you back alive. It's his freaking dying wish! So, you _will_ learn this! You _will_ do everything I tell you to do _when_ I tell you to do it and _how_ I tell you to do it! And you _will not_ complain about it at any moment!"

Abruptly, he straightened to an upright position while none-too-gently pulling her up to her feet, as well. Not two seconds after she'd regained vertical posture, she felt the soft impact to her solar plexus- nothing strong enough to inflict real pain, more of a shove- and the leg wrenched in a twisting motion between hers.

Just like that, she was flat on her back again, gasping for air and certain a very large bruise was blossoming somewhere in the vicinity of her buttocks.

The Mellark middle child kneeled over her, a devious smirk alighting his countenance as he added conspiratorially in a voice meant only for her ears, "Oh, and I forgot to mention… I hate how you've screwed with my little brother's feelings for almost a year, now. So, I'm going to take some real personal satisfaction in imparting this knowledge... Have fun with _that_!"

"Rye! Don't break or dislocate anything! We have ten weeks left. Bones take too long to set!"

Katniss instantly turned wide, beseeching eyes on Peeta upon hearing his warning toward the philistine beside her, voicelessly screaming at him for aid. She noted with no small degree of discomfort, the younger blonde had her former mentor in some kind of sleeper hold, the older Victor's eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head. That couldn't augur anything good for her, could it?

Pleading looks to her neighbor were fruitless, anyway. The seventeen-year-old pointedly avoided all eye contact with her as he regarded his older brother, letting poor Haymitch fall to the grass in a semi-conscious heap. "I really thought I'd get more out of _him_ in hand-to-hand. He knocked me off my feet on the train to our Games and he was wasted. Sure, it was a sucker-punch, but still… guy's been sober for months now!"

Not bothering with commenting on what his younger brother had just uttered, the older blonde responded in a blatantly deflated tone, "What about ribs? Can I break ribs? Those heal in ten weeks!"

Oh, God! Were they actually debating on the amount of torture this monster of a boy would inflict upon her as if she weren't even there?

She found her eyes darting toward Peeta again, only this time narrowed in indignation as if trying to communicate telepathically, ' _You bastard! You know exactly what he's doing and you're standing idly by and letting him!_ '

The youngest Mellark shook his head in chastisement at his older brother, huffing out tiredly, "We need all that time to train, not heal, Rye… nothing that will take longer than a few days to recuperate from. She needs to learn, not suffer."

Katniss was conflicted. What took a few days to heal, but still allowed her the mobility to learn how to fight up close? For that matter, should she be angry with the boy with the bread for choosing the most ruthless person he knew in the district to teach her this survival skill, which had so painfully been demonstrated to her, she severely lacked? Or, should she be grateful to him for supplying the most qualified tutor in the district to instruct her?

Hmm? It was really quite the quagmire, considering this boy's obvious animosity toward her. Then again, _was it_ just animosity?

If she really thought about it, she didn't see herself reacting much different than this boy if, say Prim, volunteered to go into the Games to die for a Merchant she barely knew and who'd treated her fairly indifferently for nearly a year. She honestly doubted she'd even help teach the kid archery if her sister asked. She didn't believe herself capable of such absolution toward someone who'd hurt her loved one. What Rye was doing for Peeta was downright magnanimous beyond her own proclivity as a person.

In spite of herself, she found she admired the boy who'd just caused her copious amounts of pain with the promise that more was imminent in the very immediate future.

She was wrested from her reverie both metaphorically and physically, as the eighteen-year-old pulled her up roughly by her upper arms, much as if she were a rag doll. Yep, there were definitely going to be ugly, sore, blue marks where his vice-like grip collapsed the fine blood vessels under her skin there.

His eyes seemed alight with a mischievous sort of disappointment that his voice mimicked. He wasn't bothering keeping his tone low anymore when he spoke, either. "Little brother says I can't break you, little girl. That's kind of a bummer! We'll just have to get _really creative_ then, won't we? We have to figure out how far you bend without breaking…"

One thought ran through the Seam huntress' mind as she registered the mocking laughter from her neighbor and Haymitch, who was still lying on the grass, in response to the mortifying quip.

' _I am so utterly hosed!_ '

* * *

Six hours later, the baker's two youngest sons populated the bed in Peeta's bedroom as Prim Everdeen silently wrapped compresses of ice mixed with some sweet-smelling herbs around their sore arms and legs- and in Rye's case, around his head. Katniss had finally landed a really neat kick to his temple during one nasty outburst. He'd be concussed if the force of the kick hadn't been so pathetic. Nonetheless, it was impressive for a first day…

"I hope you're both proud of yourselves- taking advantage of her stubbornness like that. In case, either of you care; Mom has her in a tub of ice and herbs at home- a whole tub! She walked in the door and all but collapsed. We had to undress her because she can't lift her arms and there's hardly a six-inch gap on her body between bruises. She can barely move! What do you have to say for yourselves?"

The brothers shared a brief glance; Rye's unapologetic and accompanied by a satisfied smirk, Peeta's etched with concern and an undertone of attrition. "Prim, I didn't touch her. And she could've bowed out of it earlier if she really-"

The blue-eyed Seam girl brought up a hand to stifle his attempted exoneration. "Don't feed me that, Peeta! We both know, you noticed she was past her breaking point hours ago. You could have made her stop. You can make anyone do pretty much almost anything! She didn't want to seem too weak to hang with the big boys because she's proud and thick as a mule. You likely took advantage because she deserved to be taken down a peg and because the side of you that isn't all 'sunshine and butterflies' _wanted_ to see someone give her a taste of her own medicine for once."

Rye outright laughed at this girl's incredibly accurate ascertaining of the situation. "Are you sure you're related to Katniss, Prim? 'Cause you just about nailed that and I'm pretty sure not even _she's_ figured it out yet! Heck, I don't think that girl has _ever_ figured _anything_ out as well as you just put that together just then!"

The thirteen-year-old spared him a withering glance as she crossed her arms, shifting her expectant blue eyes to meet those of his younger brother.

Peeta ran a hand through his hair, letting out a tired breath. "She needed to learn how to fight close-range, Prim. Rye really is the best person I know to teach her. Haymitch is almost at a beginner's level right now. I can't do it myself. How awkward do you think it would be for the both of us to be grappling with each other? Plus, I could never hurt her. Learning this involves pain- lots of it." He now allowed a slow, almost abashed smile to split his august features, "Does a dark part of me not completely feel _bad_ that she has to go through this?" He gave a slight shrug of one shoulder, "How do you honestly expect me to respond to that?"

Prim allowed the smile she'd been suppressing to finally make its appearance at the confession. She had to respect the boy's candor and she knew her sister's emotional ambiguity since their arrival back from their Games had to be maddening for anyone. She'd seen how it effected Gale, too. She still made her best attempt to sound stern and authoritative through an unwittingly escaping snicker, "Well, you messed her up pretty bad. She's not coming out to train tomorrow and we'll see about the day after that…"

"I come back in seven days for round two, Prim. I expect to have that little Girl on Fire ready for me when I get here."

The teenage blonde cocked her head, regarding the Mellark middle child with curiosity. "Technically, once she heals up, she'll be even stronger than before. Muscles tend to do that when you work them this hard. She'll be ready for you."

The eighteen-year-old rubbed his hands together in unabridged excitement at that statement. He almost seemed to salivate as he locked deranged-looking blue eyes with the nearly matching ones of his unsuspecting victim's baby sister. "Oh, that's so nice to know, little girl! I had to hold back so much to keep from breaking your big sister today. If you make her stronger, I can do so much more to her without severely damaging her!"

At the look of sheer abhorrence that warped the young girl's mien, Peeta whacked his brother's shoulder hard, recriminating harshly, "You're scaring her, Rye!" Then, turning a softer look on his neighbor, he added in a soothing voice, "He's only going to make sure she knows how to defend herself, Prim. He's not going to seriously hurt her… I promise."

Nodding solemnly to the younger blonde in brief confirmation of her understanding, she turned an intrigued, raised eyebrow at his still-smirking older sibling. She kept her tone low and quizzical, "There's seriously something very wrong with you, isn't there?"

Rye's grin turned predatory. "You know, Prim, you're very pretty. If you were a few years older, I'd show you just how deep what's wrong with me really runs. But, alas, I'll just have to remain an enigma to you."

Peeta brought his hand up to apply pressure to both eyes in sheer mortification.

Had his brother really just made a pass at the baby sister of the girl he loved?

At least, this made him blissfully unaware of the girl's face reddening to that particularly impressive shade of scarlet as she stuttered some gibberish about having to get home to finish homework and made the hastiest retreat possible out of the room, down the stairs and out of the house.

Once he heard his front door slam, the baker's youngest brought his hand down to send a blood-chilling sneer at his older brother. "Are you sick in the head, flirting with a little girl, weirdo?"

The older teen waved a hand dismissively with an easy smile. "She was trying to figure me out. I thought I'd save her the hassle and scare her off before she got traumatized by the realities she'd find. Poor kid's been through enough in her life without delving into our pit of oblivion." Then, noting his baby brother's shrug and cringe of assent, he turned to face him, changing the topic entirely, "So, does your fake fiancée make it a habit to space out constantly while staring at your butt, or was today just an aberration?"

Even though the thought of putting an iota of effort into the attempt never crossed his mind, Peeta couldn't have stopped the smug grin that tugged at one corner of his lips. "Was that what she was staring at every time you told her to focus before making her eat dirt?"

The elder of the two shrugged. "Your butt, your chest, your back, your arms… Has this girl ever gotten a decent look at you before today?"

A hearty laugh escaped the seventeen-year-old. "I've caught her staring at me dozens of times! I've caught her staring at my hands, my arms, my face… I think she generally just finds me aesthetically enthralling and has absolutely no tact. I find it both endearing and flattering. And what's even funnier is the fact that she always manages to look like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar when I catch her, but I've caught her so many times. To help her save face, I always pretend I don't notice or that it's somehow perfectly normal to have someone openly gape at you. Because, seriously, what else am I supposed to do with _that_?"

The older blonde turned onto his back, placing both hands behind his head as he chuckled at how ridiculous that entire redaction had been. "If all that's true, it was sheer cruelty on your part to spend the day shirtless in front of her. She must've been frying half the neurons in her pretty little head trying to figure out why her attention kept diverting over to you."

This statement caused the younger boy's smile to falter, his voice suddenly becoming much more sullen, "Oh, I think she's already figured out why she stares, Rye. The problem now is that she has no idea what to do about it- not when she believes she's going to die for me in two and a half months. And at this point, there's not much I _want_ her to do about it. I need her to _want_ to survive or she won't. If she's attached to me, she won't let me go when the time arrives for her to do what she needs to in order to get back here to her family. I'd rather have her confused and alive."

The baker's second oldest grew somber, lifting himself to what the younger boy thought would be a sitting position until he found himself suddenly crushed in the older teen's arms, the older boy burying his face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Freeing a hand from the rib-crushing embrace, Peeta patted his older brother's back, whispering hoarsely through unshed tears...

"I'll always love you, too, big brother. Never forget that…"

* * *

The last five days had been torture on the baker's entire family.

They'd had a farewell dinner- all of them together- at Peeta's house in the Victor's Village the day before the reaping for the Quell.

Peeta had prepared the entire meal himself- all six courses, which included an elaborate salad of greens he'd had imported from Eleven, summer squash soup Effie had sent him the recipe for and two desserts.

He'd spent the entire day in the kitchen as the rest of the family lounged in the living room or den. They'd retold stories of stupid things they'd done as children, laughing at their own idiocy. Random friends had made appearances during the course of that day.

Delly had been the first to show up with her brother and her parents. Peeta hadn't allowed her to leave with the rest of her family, however. His best friend had stayed the whole day in the kitchen with him.

Ace and Joe had made an appearance. Ace had broken down in his arms and given him a butterfly kiss on the lips. Joe had given him an awkward embrace, stating he'd miss his cookies and departed quickly with moist eyes.

The cobbler's youngest daughter had come to visit next. She'd brought a stroller holding an infant and a baby. She'd held a two-year-old in one arm. She'd apologized for her sister not being able to make it and explained she'd brought the babies because she knew how much he loved the babies. He'd stopped her mid-ramble with a tight hug, making sure not to crush the giggling toddler in her arms. She'd melted into his embrace, breaking into sobs. She'd told him she'd miss what they'd never share.

Mani's visit was swift. He came to say Peeta had already made the whole darn district proud and his legacy could only rise from there. Then, he'd shaken his hand and given him a firm slap on the back before leaving.

The textiles storeowner and his family came last. Lacy had given him a hug and a kiss to the cheek before immediately gravitating toward Rye. She'd sat on his lap on the couch. There'd been plenty of unoccupied space on that big couch, but she'd needed to be in his lap with his arms wrapped tightly around her. _He'd_ needed her there. He'd be losing his baby brother the next day, after all.

Once dinnertime came, all had gone but the Mellarks, the textiles storeowner's daughter and Delly Cartwright. That had been just fine by the baker's youngest. They were family too, as far as he'd been concerned.

Once the evening ended, he'd made his way upstairs, picked out a pair of slacks, a comfortable shirt, underwear, socks and shoes and made his way to his childhood home with his family.

He'd wanted them to spend one last day in the opulence of his home in the Victor's Village, but he'd wanted to spend his last few hours in District Twelve in the home he'd grown up in.

He'd shared his old room with Rye that last night and- since the second bed had long since been removed to make room for his brother's much larger one- he'd also shared his bed. To the baker's youngest amusement and surprise, his second oldest brother liked to cuddle in his sleep- a fact he'd gleamed that night. An idiosyncrasy the older boy had made him swear an oath of secrecy over the following morning. But, considering where he was headed, who was he really going to tell? His brother was a lovable moron! He was really going to miss him.

After a sullen, quiet late brunch, pregnant with so many things no one knew how to bring up but hoped they'd be able to say in the Justice Building when the time came to say their final goodbyes, they'd made their way the few feet to the Town Square.

They'd noticed two things immediately upon arriving in the square: the summer heat was nearly unbearable- certainly not healthy for a woman in her thirty-ninth week of gestation as Chrys was- and the ridiculous amount of Peacekeepers present... all of whom had machine guns trained on the unarmed spectators.

Was that even necessary for a Reaping where everyone knew who would be reaped?

Nothing about the Reaping itself had been surprising to the Mellarks. They'd called Katniss. They'd called Haymitch. Peeta'd volunteered the instant his name wasn't called. This had all been planned.

What hadn't been planned had been the Peacekeepers' immediately converging on the youngest Mellark and his district partner, marching them into the Justice Building and having Head Peacekeeper Thread emerge five minutes later to announce that, due to a change in procedure, the Tributes were already on their way to the train station and the farewells had been cancelled.

The farewells had been forgone!

They'd been denied that final opportunity to hold Peeta, to tell him he'd made their world brighter and it had just darkened forever that day. They'd been denied their closure.

The Capitol had taken _everything_ that had been their little Victor, even the chance to say good-bye.

Flax had immediately found himself cradling his wife in his arms bridal-style after that announcement. Whether she'd collapsed from the heat or the emotional onslaught of what they'd been deprived of as a family, no one really knew. It didn't matter. Worrying over the well-being of the nearly full-term mother-to-be as they'd rushed her indoors and laid her in her bed so that the midwife could look her over, had served as a much welcomed distraction from the void they'd all felt.

The following day, Chrys had been well enough to join the family while they'd watched the Tribute Parade.

Just as had occurred the last time their baby brother was reaped, no one spoke- no one commented on the first eleven chariots.

However, when the District Twelve chariot had made its illustrious emergence through those gates, every Mellark in that living room had gasped in conjunction, it seemed, with the entire Capitol.

Their youngest had looked so... _beautiful_!

He'd been an ember! A beautiful glowing ember, whose unparalleled warmth and beauty this world was woefully undeserving of.

Every occupant of that living room had sobbed upon seeing Peeta in that parade. Well, all except the baker's wife, of course. She'd excused herself from the living room abruptly when what she'd referred to as 'all the bawling and whimpering' started.

She'd locked herself in her bedroom, allowing her tears to fall in privacy.

The Mellarks had attempted to regain some semblance of normalcy in their routine over the consequent three days. However, their loved one in the Capitol never strayed from their consciousness for too long. The baker and his two remaining sons received more burns due to flustered, negligence in those three days than they had in the anteceding three years.

They'd all come together in their living room again for the announcement of the training scores and for the interviews.

Rye'd finally made some snarky comment about his having something to do with that record-shattering 'twelve' both Peeta and Katniss had somehow miraculously achieved. However, not even _he'd_ looked particularly convinced when everyone in the room exchanged uneasy looks that night.

Wasn't a score that high the equivalent of handing them a slab of bloody meat before shoving them in a lion's den?

The night of the interviews, they'd all sat riveted by that television set. No one had ever heard Victors being interviewed for Games.

The working theory was that a Victor was exempt form the Games for the rest of their lives. Well, at least that _had been_ the working theory until this Quell...

The Mellark family had never heard such openly inflammatory and disparaging commentary launched against the Capitol. It'd been like watching a horrible accident- you didn't want to look, but you found it impossible to turn away. Victor after Victor slandering their government in his or her own way... and then Katniss had made her way to the chair next to Caesar and the whole country could see what she was dressed in.

A low, choked whimper had escaped Chrys at the mere sight of her in her beautiful flowing, white wedding gown.

Snow was a monster!

When she'd started spinning, disintegrating the dress into that beautiful black plumage, reminiscent of that of a mockingjay's, every member of the family had exchanged outraged, fearful looks with one another. They'd all felt it- deep in their gut.

There was something very contrived and blatantly treasonous going on that involved that girl!

Then, their family's youngest had come out on stage with his ever-so-effective façade of charm and humor...

Rye and Flax had instantly exchanged a look of concern. It'd been obvious their brother was working clean-up for his love interest again. Then he'd dropped the bomb that he'd married the Seam huntress at some point in the previous six months and had managed to impregnate her. The brothers would have shared a bitter laugh at both the ludicrousness and brilliance of that entire act, had it not been for their father.

The moment his son had admitted that to the entire country, the baker had turned hope-filled eyes to his two remaining sons. He was well aware his boys shared a bond he had no part in and likely _deserved_ no part in that allowed them to read each other as he never could, but he'd absolutely needed to know. He'd needed to know if a piece of his baby boy would live on if he was successful in getting this girl he was trying to protect home. "Rye, Flax... Is it true? Is Katniss pregnant with Peeta's child?"

The brothers had gaped at their father, unwilling to shatter that light of hope that gleamed in his eyes. The eldest had been the one to finally, abdicate with an answer, averting his gaze, too ashamed of the inevitable pain his words would cause him. "No, Dad. He's never touched her. He would've told us. He's protecting her. Anyone would be hard-pressed to kill a woman who's with child. Peeta's playing on the other Tributes' sympathy to keep her alive."

No one else had spoken after that.

And now, here they were, watching as their youngest, his district partner and both Tributes from Four made their trek through a jungle in search of water.

As a last minute parting gift, Peeta had a television set installed in the front of the bakery, so they could watch the Quell round-the-clock while attending to customers.

Her swollen ankles unable to bare her weight for over five minutes, Chrys remained watching upstairs with the Mellark matriarch while the men tended the shop.

The family's stomachs had collectively dropped upon seeing the arena for the first time, noting that the Tributes were precariously surrounded by encroaching water. They knew with all certainty, Peeta couldn't swim. No one in Twelve could. They had no bodies of water large enough to accommodate the learning of the skill. The arena was an obvious advantage to District Four, whose male Tribute was a paradigm of masculinity. These games were fixed!

To their shock and relief, however, once the gong had sounded, the Seam huntress had dove right into the water in the direction of the Cornucopia... she could actually swim! They'd exchanged questioning looks but weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They'd been wary of the alliance Katniss seemed to form so easily with the striking young Tribute from Four. Especially since the girl didn't hide her emotions whatsoever and her disdain for the man was so blatant. She especially hadn't seemed to like him going near their youngest. She'd looked about ready to run him through with an arrow when he'd volunteered to get him from his metal plate.

They'd already witnessed the massacre at the Cornucopia. They knew eight accomplished killers laid dead. They'd witnessed the bizarre standoff between Finnick Odair and Katniss, where they'd looked just about ready to take each other out simultaneously until Peeta- the ever level-headed and pragmatic little brother they all ached for- had stepped between them to diffuse the terse situation.

Now, as Rye finished ringing up an order for a customer, he heard a buzz on the screen a few feet above and in front of the counter, followed by something ruffling the foliage in the jungle. He looked up in time to see Katniss frantically calling his prone brother's name while shaking him, then placing her ear to his chest with a horrified expression.

"Dad, Flax! Get out here!" His father and brother, who'd been in the kitchen, quickly joined the Mellark middle child. They heard Chrys and the baker's wife make their way down the stairs.

"Did you guys see Peeta hit the forcefield?" The heavily pregnant woman huffed upon entering the room, instantly glancing up at the screen where Finnick was apparently holding closed Peeta's nose as Katniss tried to stop him.

Not understanding anything that was happening on that screen, Rye ran both hands frenetically through his hair and pulled, his voice coming out in a shriek, "Is that what happened? Why is that freak trying to kiss Peeta? How sick is that guy to defile someone who's dead like that? Why haven't they shot his canon yet?" Every query trilled out of him in a single gasp that only half managed to drown out the commentary from Ceasar and Claudius.

"...That's right. It _is_ barbaric and archaic. But, if it works, he might just get the young Tribute from Twelve's heart pumping again... Of course, that's if Mrs. Mellark's arrow misses it's mark..."

They all looked on as what the commentators were referring to played out on the screen. Finnick had shoved Katniss away from Peeta when she'd tried to hinder his efforts at whatever it was he was doing. In response, The Seam huntress had an arrow pointed squarely at the man who was alternating between breathing into the boy's mouth and compressing his chest.

"She was raised by a healer. Some part of her must know on some level, you can't hurt a dead man this way..."

All eyes turned away from the screen briefly in response to the desolate edge in the tacit voice of the baker. And, it seemed almost as if the Seam girl had heard him because, when they turned back to the television, she'd lowered her weapon, staring at what the odd man from the fishing district was doing to their youngest in open stupefaction.

"Is it even possible to restart someone's heart, or is this some sick gimmick the Gamemakers are allowing for added suspense?" Flax's baritone was full of grief and bitterness.

"I've never seen this in the Games before. Usually, if someone is dying, everyone else let's them die. What this man is doing... he looks like he's done it before. Maybe it's something they do in Four. That's probably why the Gamemakers haven't blasted the canon. They know it might work and they're curious to see if it will."

No one in the front room of that bakery could argue the Mellark matriarch's unflappable logic. Therefore, they just remained staring at the screen as the minutes ticked on for what seemed like an eternity. Then, when they'd all lost hope that _anyone_ could possibly be brought back from something like this, Peeta coughed weakly and Katniss was instantly draped over him like a blanket.

Chrys started doing that incredibly annoying, high-pitched, squealing thing she did when she was really, really happy.

Everyone laughed at her.

* * *

It was pitch black.

This arena had a bizarre pink moon, so why was everything shrouded in darkness?

Flax held Chrys tightly in his arm as she shivered; only he knew it wasn't from the cold.

Rye leaned against him for comfort, as well, as they watched the screen entranced.

It was close to midnight in that arena; however, it was closer to three in the morning out here in the real world.

Everything that had happened in the last fifteen minutes had been simultaneously terrifying, suspenseful, horrifying, confusing...

While Peeta, Betee and Finnick waited by that strange tree, Katniss and Johanna had been running the wire down to the beach… that's when Brutus and Ebobaria had converged on them, cutting the wire and attacking. Odd thing was, before the Two Tributes could make their move, Johanna had incapacitated the Seam huntress and plunged a knife in her arm. Then, she'd taken off with the Two Tributes, who'd presumed Katniss was dying, in pursuit. Only, Katniss wasn't dying. She was woozily on her feet and trying to find Peeta, who'd taken off with Finnick the moment they'd both seen the wire go slack.

Unable to keep up with the much swifter Odair due to his prosthesis and the infringing darkness, their family's youngest had become derailed, coming across a brawling Brutus and Chaff.

Due to Chaff's own handicap, the Two Tribute got the upper hand and disposed of him so quickly; the seventeen-year-old was at a loss to help.

That's when the first canon went off.

Everything had become anarchy at that point.

Brutus attacked Peeta on site, telling him he and Enobaria had seen Katniss dying and that had likely been her canon going off. It was clear from Peeta's countenance as he struggled with the far larger man that he was skeptical of anything that flew out of his mouth. All the same, he called out to Katniss after delivering an excellent blow to the older Victor's temple. His family could see the fear start to register when he didn't receive a response and called out for her again as the older man toppled him to the forest floor, attempting to run him through with his blade.

Finally, they heard her respond, but the response was as bewildering to the Mellarks as it appeared to be to their youngest. "Peeta!... Peeta! I'm here!... Peeta!... I'm here! I'm here!... Peeta!"

"She's practically advertizing her location to everyone in that arena!" Rye's statement correlated almost perfectly with the widening of his brother's eyes at what had to be that exact realization.

Apparently, Brutus realized this as well, because he gave one more furious kick to the younger boy's abdomen to shove him off, darting in the direction of the Seam huntress' voice. However, his leg had been injured during the scuffle and that put him on equal footing, so to speak, with the seventeen-year-old, who caught up to him about twenty yards away. Peeta tackled him and evaded the swing of the blade to his throat, instead wrenching the man's arm while twisting away to escape. The end result being the blade becoming lodged in the older Tribute's liver.

Within a minute, another canon sounded and the entire Mellark clan cringed as Peeta shuffled away from the body of the first life he'd ever taken- however inadvertently and as an act of self-preservation- running a disgruntled hand through his hair and all but howling out for Katniss again in anguish.

When no response was forthcoming, he got back to his feet to start up in the direction of Katniss' last reply- in the direction of the lightning tree.

While this was all transpiring, the screen had actually been split; also displaying the chase Finnick, Enobaria and Johanna had been involved in until they heard Katniss calling out. This had been interspersed with shots of Katniss near the tree with Betee, doing lord-knows-what.

Then, as the Mellarks looked on, all the Tributes started converging on that tree. Two and Four actually reached it, coming within Katniss' visual range. Peeta and Johanna were within yards of each other and seconds from reaching the tree as well, when Katniss shot an arrow at some random spot, just as the lightning struck the tree.

Everything seemed to explode into white light before the screen faded to static... then went black.

The electricity had gone out.

"Oh, well this is perfect timing!" Rye's sarcasm-laced voice rung out in the unnaturally eerie silence and pitch darkness.

Suddenly, Flax's face appeared lit by the glow of a candle. His voice sounded unusually tense, "Does anyone remember there _ever_ being a blackout during the Games? They're compulsory viewing by the Capitol. Pretty much, the only time we're guaranteed electricity around the clock in Twelve is during the Games."

Another candle now appeared, lighting the tired features of his wife, her voice mimicked her fatigued, "What do you figure that means? What do you think happened? Do you think it had anything to do with that explosion in the arena right before the feed cut off?"

A third candle was now lit, held by Rye. "Well, I'm not sitting around to find out. What say, we go out and see if the screen in the square is out, too?"

Flax gave a shrug no one could see. "Sounds like a plan to me..."

Before they could take two steps in the direction of the door, they felt it.

It started as a light trembling that grew exponentially with each passing millisecond, morphing into a cataclysmic tremor that felt as if it could chatter the teeth within their very mouths.

Unsteadily, Chrys made her way to her husband, wrapping her arms tightly around him and screaming at the top of her lungs, "What is that?"

However, she received no response, as the sound was drowned completely by the ear-piercing shrill that abruptly resounded through the entire bakery, simultaneously pulverizing every window.

Then, there was silence...

The absolute silence borne of a raging inferno that surges forth mercilessly and obliterates all.

_FIN_


	6. Epilogue-The Mellark Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who read and left Kudos for this work. I will leave the expansion request open. If you want something, let me know in a comment and I'll see what I can do.  
> However, you must be warned: My mind works in odd ways, so your request may not be quite what you'd expect.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Their boisterous laughter rings across the meadow, an intrinsic component to the innocence of their juvenile merriment.

They frolic and giggle and roughhouse among the wildflowers in the verdant field, under the introspective liquid blue gaze of the man running his fingers lovingly, absently through the raven tresses of the woman whose head lies within his lap.

He always sees it within these children.

This little boy, with hair the color of flaxen wheat, which his painter's eye can easily denote is far too many shades lighter than his own ash locks to be gifted by  _him_. This rambunctious child, whose deep little laugh- even now at the tender age of two- both foreshadows and evokes memories of another rich, deep, intelligent baritone, silenced nearly two decades earlier by the merciless inferno of retribution.

And this little girl. This cherub-faced minx, who's presently trying to tickle her little brother into oblivion, he saw that lop-sided, devious smirk split another more rugged, masculine set of features far too many times in his formative years for an unwitting chuckle not to escape him every time he witnesses its display on this beautiful four-year-old's demeanor. The exact source of her short fuse will likely remain a paradox, as she has both her mother and his own lineage to supply plenty of that particular idiosyncrasy. However, her propensity to lose that fire the instant she's realized she's gone too far and inadvertently hurt someone, usually seeking comeuppance through a fierce, unrelenting embrace… he knows exactly where _that_  came from.

Blissfully unaware of it, these children are the living, breathing extensions of those whose ashes they so merrily traipse over in that field.

They possess both their darker and their redeeming qualities. And the man with azure eyes who muses as he gazes at them play, swears inwardly to make sure they know every story, every detail of those who lie beneath their tiny feet in that meadow.

After all, these _are_  the baker's children, who run atop what was once the baker, his wife and  _his_  children. This is their family's history, lying buried in this meadow.

These  _are_  the baker's children. Those buried here live on through them.

This little boy and this little girl  _are_  the Mellarks' legacy.

  _FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> If there is an interaction anyone who reads this has ever wondered about between Peeta and his family, this is the story to make the request for it.


End file.
